


Living On A Wire

by oriolevent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boyband, Good Peter, Human AU, M/M, Manager Peter, Mistaken Polyamory, Musician Scott, Musician Stiles, Musicians, Secret Relationship, Steter endgame, This is an indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6966010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriolevent/pseuds/oriolevent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the hell is Stiles supposed to do now that his band's been broken up and Scott's gone solo? Get tangled up with the Hales, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living On A Wire

**Author's Note:**

> I used to write boyband AUs for fandoms when I was like 13 and I came across one the other day. Very nostalgic and terrible. So I decided to write this one, and upload it all in one go. It's just a bit of fun but I hope you enjoy it! It was a great excuse to make up terrible band names (one of which is my best friend's cat's name, so, congrats Ramsey, you've been immortalized).

 

 

_“Artists hide their identities in the brushstrokes of their paintings, the verses in their cantos, and the sentences in their novels. The true face of an artist is never on his face and this is what he prefers. Others misunderstand this displaced melancholy with an absence of melancholy.”_

 

Bruce Crown, _How Dim the Promised Land_

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you fucking serious?!”

 

Everyone in the meeting room turned to look at Stiles. He was livid, obviously, and the bored expression on Chris Argent’s face did nothing to help. 

 

“Calm down, asshole,” Jackson snapped at him, clearly irritated too. “We should have seen this coming.”

 

Stiles tried to gauge the rest of the members of the band, but only Scott looked back at him, shock clear on his face. Danny was looking down at his phone, clearly taking the news better. 

 

“You can’t just break up the band like this,” Stiles tried to reason, seeing Argent was hopeless and turning to their manager instead. “Finstock, did you seriously think this was okay? In like, any way?”

 

Finstock only shrugged, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from the beer he had open. “Your contract’s up at the end of the month. No secret that I’m about ready to retire, it’s been a great gig — seriously, so good — but I’m ready to buy an island somewhere in the pacific and kick back for a few lifetimes.”

 

“If Mr. McCall is interested in the offer, we need to know as soon as possible,” Chris stepped in before Stiles could start railing on their manager. “There will be a lot to arrange if we want to have him on the market in time for the awards season.”

 

It wasn’t like they weren’t aware that their contract was expiring so soon. But Stiles had thought — well, AlphaBeta was one of the hottest bands going right now. It would be idiotic to break them up. How could that even be good for business? 

 

“I _can’t_ go solo,” Scott protested, looking wildly between Stiles and Argent. “There’s no way I could leave you guys, and why me, anyways?”

 

“You’re the lead singer, idiot,” Jackson said, looking like he was texting someone now too. “Obviously you’re the one they’d pick. You’re in the middle of all our promotional pictures.”

 

“We ran some thinktanks, checked the internet, all that stuff,” Finstock waved his hand as if that had been an extensive list, “and McCall’s the one with the most marketability. People already love him. It’s an easy sell.”

 

Stiles was about to have another angry outburst, but Scott’s expression made him swallow down his shouts. Damn, if he didn’t look guilty. As if he had set this up, except Stiles knew his best friend was entirely incapable of being that underhanded. He sighed. “This isn’t just because he’s dating your daughter?” He glared at Argent.

 

“I’d like to think I manage to separate personal from business,” Chris frowned, folding his arms. He was seated at the head of the long boardroom table and the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him put the sun at such an angle that it was hard to look at him. Stiles squinted and tried anyways. “Allison doesn’t work for Silver Bullet Records. Scott is talent, and it’s my job to harvest that, regardless of any other connections we might have.”

 

“Great. Hear that, Scott, he’s going to harvest you,” Stiles grumbled. 

 

The worst thing about this — and there were plenty of shitty things about this situation — was that Stiles knew Scott would be great on his own. There was a reason he fronted their band, and that fans melted over his goofy smile. He was totally charming and had basically no ego.

 

The second worst thing was that Scott looked entirely torn, which meant that part of him actually wanted to go through with it. 

 

Argent and Finstock seemed to be waiting for Scott to give them an answer right then, but Scott was looking at Stiles, as if he would tell him what to do. Danny and Jackson were still engrossed in their phones — the latter would be telling Lydia what was happening, no doubt, and Danny had been checking out of most of their business conversations ever since he bought that house in Hawaii. All he ever talked about was finding time to travel out there.

 

He glanced at the copy of the contract that Argent had slid across the table to Scott. He knew he should read it first, but he didn’t honestly think he could sit still long enough to get through it right now.

 

So Stiles didn’t really have much of a choice. “Scotty…If this is something you wanna do, buddy, then you should go for it.”

 

Scott clearly hadn’t expected him to say that, of all things. “What? But what about you, what are you gonna do now?”

 

Stiles shrugged, played it off casually. “Oh, y’know. I’ll figure something out. We talked about taking a break for a month or two anyways, right? I’ll just start…sooner.”

 

The expression Chris sent him told him that he didn’t believe it for a second, but the label representative was hardly about to say anything against him when things were going his way. 

 

The meeting didn’t last much longer after Scott finally caved and agreed to the new plan. Stiles only stuck around long enough to hear Argent start to discuss strategy with Scott before he ducked out with Danny and Jackson as they left. He gave his friend a clap on the shoulder and a reassuring grin when Scott looked anxiously at him. 

 

They were in the elevator when Danny finally slid his phone into his pocket. “Alright, Stiles, let it out.”

 

“Fuck!” he shouted, voice reverberating around the small space. For a lack of things to do, he swung at one of the mirrored walls of the elevator. The panel knocked loose but didn’t break, though his fist started to ache instantly. He cursed again, quieter this time.

 

“There you go,” Danny said calmly, watching the screen show the floor numbers as they descended. “Now go home and bang on your drums and get the rest of your feelings out.”

 

“Is this your first day in LA or something?” Jackson preened in one of the intact mirrors, adjusting the tie and lapels of his suit. He always looked overdressed, even for their usual meetings with the record label. “This is just the inevitable end. McCall’s our Beyonce. Poor choice, if you ask me, but I can’t say it bothers me.”

 

Stiles snorted out a laugh. “Don’t try and tell me you don’t think it should have been you.”

 

“And end up being Argent’s chew toy? Like I’d be stupid enough to sign with them again,” he rolled his eyes, straightening up as the elevator started to slow. 

 

Danny slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulder, attempting to be comforting. “He’s just looking forward to being Lydia’s arm candy for a while. It’s going to be okay, Stiles,” he promised as the door slid open, “You’ll find something. You’re the resourceful one.”

 

He wasn’t feeling very resourceful at the moment. They waited for only a minute in the parking garage entryway before their drivers were called, and all went in their separate directions. 

 

On his way to his apartment Stiles took out his phone. He skipped the messages waiting for him and looked at his contact list. There had to be at least someone he knew in LA currently that wouldn’t mind helping him drown his feelings in alcohol that night.

 

**To Kira** : Shitty day. Need 2 be drunk. Help?

 

**To Derek:** You in town?

 

**To Erica:** What time are you off work?

 

He was already home and changed into sweatpants by the time he checked for replies. Erica was on shopping trip in New York with one of her clients and wouldn’t be back until the weekend, and Kira said she was at an audition — he texted back quickly to wish her luck, and to remind her not to break any guitar strings this time. They figured that had cost her the last gig she tried out for, though Stiles insisted her abundance of passion should have been a selling point. 

 

It was tempting to flop on the couch and just call his dad — he would have to tell him the news sooner or later anyways — but he looked over at his drum set in the half of the spacious apartment dedicated to performing, and decided to take Danny’s advice. 

 

He wailed on the set for the greater part of an hour before he had worked up a sweat. He actually did feel a bit better. Or maybe just more tired. Hard to say. 

 

Checking his phone on the way to the shower, he saw Derek had replied. He was quick to take up the invitation to meet at one of the bars they knew. 

 

**To Derek** : Just a heads up, I plan on drinking enough to forget this entire day

 

**From Derek** : So it was a normal meeting with SBR then

 

**To Derek** : Yep. See you in an hour

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles couldn’t really remember when he had met Derek. It was probably at some award show after party, or some other event where celebrities liked to gather and mingle. They weren’t the closest of friends since Scott had never really gotten along with Derek, and usually the two of them came as a package. He and Stiles had still managed to form some sort of friendship, in spite of that fact. 

 

It made sense, karmically, that he would be the one Stiles ended up ranting at. Derek had launched a solo career himself after his sister slash bandmate had decided to leave the life behind and start a family. It had gone pretty well for him, but he was ridiculously gorgeous and a talented artist, so the odds were always in his favour. 

 

“He’s my brother, and I want him to be happy, obviously,” Stiles said for probably the third time, pausing to drink his whiskey. “And he’s gonna be amazing and everyone already loves him, so really it’s stupid that he even considered saying no.”

 

Derek nodded and didn’t interrupt him. That was one of the things Stiles liked about him, he was a good listener. Sometimes too good. It always led to him oversharing. “It’s okay to be upset about being left behind,” Derek told him, leaning on his arm propped up on the bar. “You’re in a shitty situation. You have to take some time to process.”

 

“The worst part is I have to keep working with these fuckers till the end of the month,” Stiles carried on, trying to catch the bartender’s eye. It wasn’t like it was busy, since it was a weekday and this was a VIP lounge. The last thing he wanted right now was anyone trying to film him for snapchat or something. “I mean, I can handle it, it just sucks.”

 

“You can’t just abandon Scott.” Derek sounded determined. “He’s going to need your support, especially now.”

 

“Speaking from experience, there?”

 

“Obviously.” He paused for a beat while the bartender brought over two new glasses of whiskey on ice. “Laura was too distracted with pregnancy stuff when I was starting out on my own. It would have been easier transitioning if she’d been around more.”

 

Stiles sighed. “It’s not like I’m gonna end our friendship over this.”

 

“Well, make sure he knows that.”

 

He had a point, but the cynical part of Stiles remembered how much time his best friend spent with Allison, and couldn’t help suspecting that she’d be there to support him way more than Stiles possibly could be. 

 

When it started to get late and Stiles had drunk enough to start feeling upbeat but blurry, Derek helped him downstairs and put him in the back of his car. Stiles struggled to remember his own address for only a second before Derek’s driver drove them away. 

 

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” he mumbled out, resting his head on the back of the seat ahead of him. He felt dizzy, but it was a pleasant kind of feeling, the motion of the car making it stronger. “Sorry I’m such a sloppy drunk.”

 

“It’s fine, Stiles.” Derek sounded like he was trying not to laugh so Stiles didn’t feel bad. 

 

When they pulled up to the curb outside Stiles’ building the doorman, Matt, came and opened the passenger side, recognizing who was inside and helping Stiles step out. “Think about what I said tonight,” Derek called after him, “and take some tylenol. And drink a lot of water before you pass out.”

 

“Yeah, thanks mom,” Stiles waved back over his shoulder as he stumbled into the lobby. Matt pushed the button on the elevator for his floor and wished him a good night. 

 

On the way up to his apartment, Stiles tried to remember what advice Derek had given him. He squinted at the pattern on the elevator wall, the faint Greek key design warping together. Oh yeah, he had told him to find a new project. Nothing distracts you from your feelings as much as hard work does, apparently. 

 

“Well, he’d know all about that,” Stiles snipped to his door as he fumbled with the keys. He realized this had been one of the rare nights with Derek where he hadn’t teased the man about that time he had briefly dated Danny. Oh, maybe that had been where he met Derek. It was hard to remember the order of events at the moment. 

 

The apartment was dark and cool and Stiles didn’t bother turning on any lights as he wandered through to his bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. He crawled up the mattress and felt around for the water bottles he had left himself before going out, because he was nothing if not considerate to his hungover self. He fell asleep with one uncapped in his hand, not noticing until he woke up damp in the morning. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, take this one back. Bring out something from Armani, in black.”

 

Lydia was perched on a chair that looked suspiciously throne-like in a large fitting room, watching like a hawk as Stiles stood in the middle in front of a mirror. The two women looking after them clearly knew her, seeing how quickly they scurried under her orders. 

 

“I think this one’s cool,” Stiles spoke up, looking at the powder blue suit jacket he had on. It’s not like he had worn the whole suit, instead picking black trousers to go with it. He had learned a thing or two about fashion, after all. It was hard not to, having a stylist like Erica for a friend. Plus, more than once Lydia had forced him to change his outfit before she would be seen anywhere with him. Some of their sense of style was bound to wear off on him eventually. 

 

“It would be fine if you were going to a hipster wedding,” Lydia dismissed the outfit, honing in on the next suit one of the women brought in. “It’s my movie premiere so I get to pick what you wear. Now strip.”

 

He did as he was told, staring dully into the mirror as different pieces were held up against his frame, Lydia sending most things back. Sometimes it was like they were back in high school, listening to her voice. It only made it weirder seeing himself in the mirror, his shoulders broad and muscles pretty well defined from years of hard drumming. He’d never been much of an athlete, despite his best efforts, so his reflection still startled him sometimes. 

 

Eventually he had on a suit that Lydia seemed to approve of. “It’ll need to be tailored, obviously,” she mentioned to one of the staff, who left to find the store’s in-house tailor right away. 

 

Stiles couldn’t see how it could be any more fitted, but he wasn’t about to argue. They finished shopping and he pulled back on his glasses and baseball hat, while Lydia put her large sunglasses on even though they were indoors. “Frozen yogurt?” she suggested, taking his arm. 

 

He had picked her up that day in his car so they sat in the backseat with cups of froyo from a drive-through. “You still haven’t told me what you think about the whole thing,” Stiles said around a spoonful. 

 

She would obviously have an opinion about AlphaBeta breaking up. Even if she hadn’t been dating Jackson, Lydia had grown up in the same small town as Stiles and Scott, and they had only kept in touch with each other since graduation a number of years ago. Stiles considered it a small blessing, thinking back to his tremendously long awkward adolescent stage. 

 

“Scott will be fine,” Lydia decided, picking around the topping with her spoon. Stiles’ phone pinged with a message, but he ignored it to listen. “You’re the one I’m concerned about. I know you’re going to try and use this as an opportunity to be lazy, and that’s a waste of your talents.”

 

“You can’t be a solo drummer, Lydia.” His phone went off again. 

 

“Obviously. I’ve read the liner notes of your albums, you know. Even if nobody else does these days. I know you wrote most of the band’s songs.”

 

Stiles shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I had a lot of help.”

 

“I’m sure the co-writers they hired did a fine job of reigning you in. But you can sing, too. You have a lot of skills you need to capitalize on.” Lydia sighed as Stiles’ phone went off a few more times. “Just answer it.”

 

“It’s probably just Scott, it’s fine. He’s meeting with Kate today and was nervous.”

 

She gave him a pointed look, and Stiles yielded. When he checked, there were several messages from Scott as expected, but also one from Derek. “It’s an invitation to a party, I guess? Says he has someone who wants to meet me.”

 

Lydia hummed. “A fan, or something?”

 

“Doesn’t really seem like Derek’s style to do that,” Stiles shook his head. His frozen yogurt cup was just about empty and he wedged it down onto the floor where it wouldn’t tip over, about to type back that he wouldn’t be available. But he paused. “Do you think I should go?”

 

Lydia asked for the location and thought it over. “Find someone to go with you, don’t show up alone. But I think you should.”

 

He frowned, trying to think of someone to bring. “You can’t come with me?”

 

She dabbed her mouth daintily with a napkin before handing her empty yogurt cup to Stiles to deal with. “I’m far too busy with the premiere coming up. MTV wants to do some sort of interview, to get my directorial perspective. They’re very into the technical side of filmmaking these days, apparently.”

 

Stiles suspected it had something more to do with the massive success of both movies Lydia had directed so far, so early in her career. People adored her film aesthetic and the upcoming premiere was shaping up to be a very big deal. 

 

After driving for a while they finally turned into Lydia’s neighbourhood in the Hills, and she kissed him on the cheek after they passed through the gates to her house. “Let me know when your suit gets delivered, I want to see it again before you show up wearing it,” she told him, climbing out of the car. 

 

Somehow, he suspected she would have him fitted for several more outfits before the premiere actually happened.

 

* * *

 

 

The end of the month came and went. There was no great fanfare to the contract ending, just some paperwork to be collected and a few phone calls to be made. 

 

Danny had already caught a flight to Honolulu, texting Stiles photos of the surfboards he was shopping for and inviting him to come out to test them. Jackson was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual. Scott was almost equally as distant, which was unusual, though he continued texting and Stiles tamped down his worry. 

 

As the party Derek invited him to approached, Stiles asked Heather to accompany him. She was a sound editor, great at what she did, and seemed to have an overwhelming social life that made him surprised that she found time to go on dates with him. In all fairness, they were tremendously casual. They had only slept together a couple of times and rarely talked in between the occasions they saw each other. But she was nice enough, and pretty, and perfectly happy to accompany him.

 

The club was overrun with people outside when they pulled up, bouncers coming up to the door of the car to help them make their way inside. They could hear the bass of the music from inside already and Stiles was in a good mood. He liked the illusion of anonymity in a crowd, even if there were flashes of cameras going off in his direction. He had learned to ignore them. 

 

Heather wanted to start with drinks and they made their way to the bar, Stiles keeping a lookout for Derek. It was a bit dim inside, though, and somehow he didn’t think the dance floor would be the place to find him. But that didn’t stop him from going out to dance with Heather first. 

 

As he realized there was a second floor to the club, Stiles told her where he was going and asked if she wouldn’t mind waiting. She had spotted other people she knew and was more than happy to go off with them, so Stiles went upstairs alone. 

 

It was significantly less crowded there, and he spotted Derek at a booth on the other side of the floor. Stiles made a beeline to the bar first, taking advantage of the unoccupied bartender to grill him about what kinds of whiskey they were hiding behind the counter. 

 

Derek caught up with him before he left the bar counter. “How you doing?” he asked, giving Stiles a half-hug. 

 

“Can’t complain. Well, maybe I could, just give me a sec,” he took a sip of his whiskey quickly. 

 

He had wondered if Derek would ask him about the whole “finding a meaningful new project” thing. He had come up with exactly zero ideas since they last saw each other. Though that didn’t mean he hadn’t accomplished anything. He had rearranged all the furniture in his apartment, and ordered a couple new drum heads online, and gotten a bunch of high scores on Candy Crush. 

 

Derek laughed and led him back towards the booth he had been at. “I’m glad you came out. Here, this is my friend Isaac,” he introduced Stiles to the others at the table, “and my sister Cora, and my uncle Peter.”

 

The first two waved in greeting but Peter rose to shake his hand. “Delighted to finally meet you, Stiles,” he said, his grip firm and confident. 

 

Stiles had seen Derek and Laura, so he knew that Hale DNA had an unfair advantage over regular mortals, but Peter was something else. He was probably only a decade or so older than Derek, but was just as fit as his nephew, his arms clearly protesting about being encased in a shirt. Stiles had to tear his eyes away in order to sit down with everyone, but he didn’t miss seeing Peter’s knowing smile.

 

“I’m a big fan of AlphaBeta,” Isaac piped up, reminding Stiles that there were other people there. He quickly fell into his usual public composure. “I was at your show in Atlanta last year, it was amazing.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Stiles said, glancing at the very small distance between Isaac and Derek, despite there being lots of room around the booth. Friend, indeed. “Guess you haven’t heard, but the band broke up.”

 

Isaac looked shocked. “Is the story out yet?” Derek asked.

 

“Nah, they’ve got PR on it. Should be soon. Why, you guys gonna snitch?” He cast his eyes around the lot of them, leaning back and putting an arm up on the backrest beside him. 

 

“Depending on the terms of your contract, you could be in a lot of trouble for leaking news like that,” Peter remarked. He had a wine glass in one hand and his posture was deceptively relaxed. It reminded Stiles of a big cat, trying to pretend it wasn’t about to pounce. 

 

“That would be true, except my contract ended two weeks ago. The Argents can go fuck themselves.” Except for Allison, he thought a second later. She was cool.

 

Cora snorted out an unexpected laugh, Derek and Peter both glancing at her. “Sorry,” she snickered, “that’s just, it’s kind of our family motto.”

 

“Peter’s my manager,” Derek explained, “and we’ve had some…run-ins with the Argents.”

 

“We should form some kind of support group,” Stiles said dryly. He could certainly tell them a few stories, ones that would probably add to whatever ire they already had. But he thought of Scott, and said instead, “So, family business, huh? Are you all in showbiz?”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Peter said. “Though I don’t think anyone’s called it ‘showbiz’ since prohibition ended.”

 

Stiles shrugged, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. His jeans were tight and it took some maneuvering to fish it out. “What can I say, it’s tough to keep up with kids and their slang,” he said as he unlocked the phone. There were three texts and a missed call.

 

**From Scott:** Hey dude, I have the rest of the night off, wanna hang?

 

**From Scott:** :( Are you ignoring me?

 

**Missed call from Scott McCall.**

 

**From Heather:** Did u find ur friends? Where are u?

 

He sent a quick text back to Heather before he saw one of the bar staff walking past, and caught her attention with a gesture to his glass. A new one was brought instantly. 

 

“If AlphaBeta is actually breaking up, that’s going to be big news,” Cora remarked, playing with the straw that came with her drink. She rubbed at the taupe lipstick mark she had left on the rim. “Are you prepared for the interview circuit that everyone will expect?”

 

Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. “Well, it’s not like I’m busy or anything,” he glossed over the issue, “and it’ll be hard for anyone to catch us all together. Scott’s already moved on, and Danny’s left the continent, so.”

 

Again, he realized too late he was probably revealing more than he should have. Both Cora and Peter seemed to tangibly absorb the information, their eyes lighting up. Derek sighed, as if he was used to dealing with them. “Cora’s in public relations, she handles my stuff,” he explained.

 

“Or I would, if there was any stuff to handle,” she glared at him. “He couldn’t do me the favour of a scandal, or jilting some A-lister. God, what I wouldn’t give for one teensy DUI to cover up.”

 

“Jesus,” Isaac gaped at her, trying to tell if she was being serious or not. 

 

Cora didn’t clarify for him, leaning towards Stiles instead. “Not that you’ve got that problem. I hear you get into some shit occasionally. You’re the bad boy of the group, right?”

 

Stiles just laughed. “I mean, that’s not really saying much, if you knew the other guys.” Scott was a marshmallow, and Derek could testify to how delightful Danny could be. Jackson was a dick, but he wasn’t much of a troublemaker, since Lydia kept him on a fairly short leash. 

 

Cora didn’t seem dissuaded, but Peter was the one to intervene. “Now, now. I’m sure Stiles doesn’t want to spent his whole night talking about work.” 

 

He appreciated the redirection, and as Isaac started talking about some television show they all seemed to watch, Stiles did reply to Scott’s messages. They would just have to see each other another night. Not that he had any idea how soon that would happen. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles could see some people approaching the booth, and realized Heather was in the lead. She came right up to him and slid onto his lap, and he was suddenly enveloped in a cloud of her perfume. “Stiles, baby,” she said — obviously she’d had a couple of drinks, and was playing it up for her friends, since she was never this silly — “Will you sign autographs for Megan and Ashley? And one for Jason too?” 

 

Stiles forced himself not to roll his eyes, or to look at the reactions of the others at the table. “Yeah, sure. Where do you want ‘em?” 

 

One of the girls that had followed Heather pulled out a sharpie — it had been wedged in her cleavage, as she didn’t seem to be carrying a purse — and he quickly scrawled out a signature on whatever objects they held out to him. 

 

“You’re the best,” Heather beamed at him, leaning down to kiss him on the lips before sliding off his lap and heading off again, one of the others demanding they return to dancing. 

 

He took a sip of whiskey before looking back at the others. Derek seemed ambivalent, but Peter had a look in his eye as if he were concocting some sort of scheme. Somehow, Stiles wanted to know what it was. 

 

“That your girlfriend?” Isaac asked, head tilting as he spoke. It was kind of adorable. 

 

“Hm? Nah.” Stiles set his glass down on the table and said nothing more. He figured their relationship seemed pretty clear. 

 

“Oh,” Isaac said, looking towards the stairs where Heather and her friends had disappeared. Stiles glanced at Derek, trying to hold a silent conversation. _That’s your type, huh?_

 

Derek gave a half-shrug, putting an arm over Isaac’s shoulders with a hint of a grin. 

 

An hour or two later and Stiles was feeling pleasantly tired. It was after two in the morning and he knew he still had to round up Heather, so it would be some time until he made it to his bed. “I better head out,” he announced, sliding out of the booth and stretching when he stood. He caught Peter’s eyes on him as his shirt rode up, and now wasn’t that interesting? “It’s been cool meeting you all. Derek, I’ll catch you later.”

 

He stopped by the bar on the way out to settle up his tab, and just before heading to the stairs, someone slid up beside him. “Before you go,” Peter stopped him, “I wanted to ask if you’d consider joining me for a business lunch. I believe I may have a proposition that would interest you.”

 

Somehow, he seemed to loom over Stiles, despite them being about the same height. It was a feeling he wasn’t really used to. “A proposition…and what are you going to proposition me? Wait, that came out wrong,” he stumbled over his words, shaking his head. “Ignore that. Sure, I guess.”

 

Peter smiled, and took Stiles’ phone to put his number in it, sending a text to himself. “There, I’ll be in touch soon.”

 

Stiles looked at the open message window. Peter had sent himself some very suggestive emojis. “Please don’t give my number out to anyone, by the way. I’ve had to change it a bunch of times already.”

 

“I would never,” Peter mocked offence, putting one hand over his heart in a show of honesty. Though, his other hand had somehow found its way to Stiles’ lower back, and he was walking him over to the stairs. 

 

Stiles paused, and gave him a scrutinizing look. Peter bore it remarkably well. “Jesus, you’re like that snake from the Jungle Book,” Stiles muttered, noticing how incredibly blue Peter’s eyes were. “Or the tiger. Yeah, definitely — wait, what am I saying? Sorry, I’m a bit drunk.” He patted Peter on the shoulder in an awkward farewell gesture before taking the railing and going downstairs, leaving the man smiling by himself at the top.

 

Stiles called his driver and by the time he found Heather and got her outside, the car was waiting for them. The crowds outside had thinned considerably but there were a few paparazzi lingering just in time to take some inevitably sloppy-looking photos of them. “Great,” he sighed, glad to be in the safe car interior.

 

“Tonight was fun, thanks for bringing me,” Heather said as they drove away. Her lipstick was all rubbed off but she seemed chipper, having apparently sobered up since Stiles saw her before. 

 

“I’m glad,” he smiled, closing his eyes and leaning back against the window. 

 

Luckily, Heather wasn’t much for idle conversation, and Stiles dozed lightly until they stopped at her place to drop her off. “See you around,” she waved to him before climbing the steps to her front door. He barely woke up enough to wish her a good night. 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles heard his email ping early one morning, as he stood in the kitchen stirring sugar into his coffee. He had been up late with Kira, who had come over to show him something she was working on on the guitar. It had turned into a late-night jam session and he could barely feel regret about how tired he was today. 

 

It had been a month since the band was told they were being dissolved, and so it had been just a little longer than that since Stiles had actually played music with anyone. It was easy to forget how much he actually enjoyed the process when dealing with the business side of things. 

 

He went to his computer and opened the email. It was from Lydia, and it had a couple attachments, and only one sentence in the message: “Done feeling sorry for yourself yet?”

 

Stiles frowned, and opened the attachments. They were cell phone photos of magazine covers, and familiar faces were on the front of them. “ALPHABETA’S SCOTT STEALS THE SPOTLIGHT”, read one, with a picture of his face beaming. “SCOTT MCCALL BREAKS FREE WITH UPCOMING SINGLE”, and “NEW LIFE, NEW LOVE: A/B’S SCOTT MCCALL SPOTTED WITH ARGENT HEIRESS AFTER SOLO ANNOUNCEMENT” loomed on the other covers. 

 

“She’s not even an heiress,” Stiles scoffed, although for all he knew, it might have been true. He had seen Allison eating untoasted pop tarts in her bathrobe at Scott’s house, which kind of ruined any image of heiresses he might have had before. 

 

He took his coffee over to the couch and flopped down, grabbing his phone and calling the man of the hour himself. Scott answered on the third ring. “Dude! I’m glad you called,” he shouted into the receiver. Stiles could practically hear him smiling.

 

“Sorry I’ve been a flake lately,” he apologized, feeling around for the TV remote and turning it on mute. “Just been taking care of some stuff, you know how it is.”

 

By ‘taking care of stuff’, he absolutely meant organizing every photo on his computer. There were over ten thousand that had been shuffled into one giant folder. It was shameful, really. It took days to sort out. 

 

“No it’s totally fine, I’ve been really busy too,” Scott said. It sounded like he was walking somewhere. “The press release just came out yesterday, and they’ve had me in the studio doing demos of the new single, which is pretty good — I like the stuff you used to write better, but you know how it goes.”

 

“If you don’t like the song, Scotty, don’t let them bully you into it,” Stiles frowned, hoping Scott could hear he was using his stern voice. “It’s your reputation on the line, don’t let them fuck it up for you.”

 

“No, I know. It’s cool. They’ve been good about it, I think they’re actually listening to my feedback now.” Someone else’s voice said something in the background, distracting Scott for a moment. “Listen, I’m just on my way to an interview, so I’ve gotta go. Oh, hey, they’re gonna ask what everyone else is up to, what do you want me to say you’re working on?” 

 

“Uh,” Stiles’ mind raced to think of something. “Secret project?”

 

“Really? That’s pretty cool, dude, you’re gonna tell me all about it, right?”

 

“Of course,” he lied. “Next time we hang out.”

 

That should buy him a few months at least, at this rate. 

 

* * *

 

 

Since news had broken about the band, things had gotten…well, worse, for Stiles. He was used to a general low-level of fan activity when he was out in public at bars or clubs or other places the paparazzi tended to lurk looking for celebrities, but ever since Scott had gushed about his “really cool secret project” on an Entertainment Tonight interview, people had been trying to hunt him down for more information. 

 

Which is how he ended up convincing his friend Boyd to go along with him to the restaurant where he was supposed to meet Peter. “I really appreciate this,” he said as Boyd drove them down Fountain Avenue. “I know this was a weird thing to ask you to do.”

 

“Not that weird,” Boyd shrugged. “I did do some security work before I opened up the gym.”

 

He always called it a gym, even though it was primarily a gigantic yoga studio. Stiles knew better than to correct him. 

 

“Besides, Erica’s really excited you’re paying for lunch. She said she’s going to order multiple lobsters.” Boyd made a face at the idea, and quickly glanced at his phone before pulling into a parking garage. “Says she got us a table. Is your guy there already?”

 

“Don’t know, but he didn’t seem like the type to be running late.” 

 

Stiles had tactfully worn one of his blending-in outfits, even though Erica had told him it only made him look more suspicious to have the hood of his sweater up with a hat on. He stuck close to Boyd until they were inside the restaurant. 

 

It was a really nice place, the kind that probably had a thousand photos of it on Pinterest and was renown for Instagram brunch photos. It was crowded, too, nearly every table full. “Uh, I’m meeting someone,” Stiles told the host at the door, “under Hale?” 

 

“Of course,” the host said, stepping out from behind his desk. “Right this way.”

 

“You gonna be okay, buddy?” Boyd put a hand on his shoulder.

 

Stiles spotted Erica waving at them from across the dining room. “Yeah, totally. You guys have fun. Don’t let her get sick on lobster.”

 

“Text me when you’re done,” he left Stiles with the host, who wasted no time in whisking him away down a hall in the opposite direction from the dining room. 

 

“Mr. Hale has a private room booked,” he explained, while Stiles tried to keep his head down as they walked. He was stopped in front of a glass door, which opened to reveal a small sunlit dining room with a fireplace. 

 

Peter was sitting at the table with a glass of white wine in his hand. Was he always holding one of those? “Stiles,” he greeted, standing up. “So glad you could make it, in this particularly hectic time.”

 

The host disappeared and Stiles unzipped his hoodie, throwing it and his hat onto an empty chair. “It’s cool. I’m only busy trying to avoid people.”

 

“Yes, I figured that would be the case. I heard you were working on a new project. Would it be rude to presume that has anything to do with me?” He smiled, all teeth. 

 

Stiles scruffed a hand back through his hair, pushing it off his forehead where the hat had flattened it. “Depends on what you have to say, doesn’t it?”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

A waiter came in shortly and rattled off the specials before taking their orders and bringing Stiles a bottle of sparkling water. “I’m detoxifying,” he reasoned when Peter gave him it a strange look. “Lydia says I’ve been drinking too much.”

 

“Lydia Martin?” Stiles nodded. “I met her in Cannes last year,” Peter recalled. “She’s a friend of yours?”

 

“Since high school,” Stiles said, pouring a glass and sitting back.

 

Peter just hummed. “She’s an excellent director. Her new film, _Northend Lights_ , comes out soon, doesn’t it?”

 

“Next month,” Stiles confirmed. “I’ve seen some rough cuts, it’s pretty awesome.”

 

Peter seemed to be in no hurry to get down to business, and after a while Stiles inadvertently discovered that he was very interesting to talk to. He was nothing like Derek, who seemed laconic by comparison. 

 

He told Stiles about getting into the industry after his own uncle retired from a management company, leaving Peter to take over. He had already been working as an agent at that point, but ended up finding a perfect opportunity to establish himself with his niece and nephew. “They had been performing together for years,” he said, “but only local events, you know. They weren’t terribly popular, and circumstances happened which made Derek inclined to give up on their work. So they became my personal project, and you know how that turned out.”

 

“What about when Laura left?” Stiles asked, half-distracted by the plate of pad thai in front of him. It was ridiculously good. 

 

“Well, she and I discussed it before it happened. She had more potential to go solo than Derek, honestly — more outgoing. But I can admit that he has his own appeal. He’s a talented songwriter, and he’s performed well.”

 

“I’d say so,” Stiles laughed. “You’re obviously good at what you do.”

 

Peter seemed to preen under the praise. “I’m glad you think so. But I had a very specific vision for Derek’s career, and unfortunately it didn’t align with his.”

 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant. Sure, Derek had that handsome-but-dangerous thing going on in photoshoots, but once you knew the guy, he was nearly as harmless as Scott. There was no way he’d be able to keep up that image outside of the studio. 

 

“And this takes us to that proposition of yours?”

 

Peter glanced over Stiles’ shoulder as the waiter came back in to check on them, and Stiles ordered coffee. “It does,” he said after he left. “you’re a smart boy, I’m sure you know what I’m interested in.”

 

“I’m twenty-six,” he corrected, raising an eyebrow.

 

Peter apologized. “Your youthful glow does you credit.”

 

Stiles almost blushed. “So, what, you want to manage me or something?” 

 

“Or something. You see, it’s rather a point of pride that I’m exceptionally good at finding out what people want. One might say my entire job depends on it. Figuring out what the fans want, and then providing it and making a profit. I see what the public wants right now,” he paused, his gaze moving down from Stiles’ face briefly, “and I think you’ll be able to give it to them.”

 

If there was supposed to be innuendo in that statement, Stiles picked up on all of it. He licked his lips, an anxious habit, and saw Peter track the movement. “I’m not interested in going solo,” he said.

 

“Indeed. Which is why you should be the front of your own band.”

 

Stiles squinted at him. “Do I have to remind you I’m a drummer?”

 

It seemed to be of little consequence. “As if you’d be the first to step out from behind the kit. Dave Grohl did it. Phil Collins. Not that I suggest looking to them as models. I’ve been well informed about your many musical talents, I’m sure you’d have no trouble adjusting.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment. He didn’t hate the idea. It actually sounded kind of tempting. And Peter was slowly convincing him that he was actually very good at what he did. “What about the rest of the band, though? You can’t just create one out of nothing.”

 

“On the contrary. It would be helpful if you all got along, but the focus is really on you, here.”

 

“And what about the creative control?”

 

“All yours.”

 

Stiles blinked. “Seriously?”

 

“I’ve done my research,” Peter said, reaching for his wine glass. “I have some idea what you’re capable of. And I can see what flavour of performer you’ll turn out to be. It will work.”

 

“My flavour,” he deadpanned. 

 

Peter grinned. “I’ve noticed that mask you put on when you’re in the spotlight. It’s incredibly well crafted. Aligned to the right purpose, I think you have the potential to eclipse anyone the Argents produce.”

 

Ah, so that’s what this was about. “You don’t like them.”

 

“Obviously not,” Peter scoffed. “And it will bring me great joy to see their despair when they realize they chose poorly when they broke up your little group. But I’ve got bigger ambitions than that, Stiles. And I need someone like you to make them happen.”

 

Stiles looked at him. If he had seemed overconfident, or arrogant, he would have shot him down immediately. But Peter didn’t seem all that confident that Stiles would agree, on the surface. And beneath that, he seemed hungry. Hungry for success, for power. 

 

It was something that Stiles would never say out loud that he could relate to. 

 

“I need to make a call first,” he said, standing up from the table. 

 

“Of course,” Peter nodded, and let him leave without another word.

 

Stiles found another private dining room that was unoccupied and went in. He tapped on the screen of his phone a few times — Erica texted him asking how it was going, and he wrote back that he wasn’t sure yet — before he sent the call.

 

“Well hey, son, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

 

“Hey, dad.” Stiles relaxed when he heard his father’s voice, sinking into one of the chairs at the empty table. “How’s it going?”

 

“Oh, not too bad, except today’s a paperwork day. Been stuck at my desk writing up reports,” Stiles could hear the sound of paper shuffling in the background as his dad paused. “Everything okay with you?”

 

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I’ve got this thing that’s come up. A new opportunity. A new band, actually.”

 

“Without Scott?” His dad knew everything already, of course. Stiles had called and told him everything the day after the label told him the news. 

 

“Yeah, just me this time. Front and center.”

 

“Wow, Stiles. That’s a pretty big deal.” The sheriff hesitated for a second, as if waiting to see if there were more details. “Are you okay with that?”

 

He laughed. “Is it terrible to say that I’m stupidly excited at the idea?”

 

“It’s not terrible. You don’t need to hear from me how talented you are — you know you get that all from your mother,” he added. “And she would be so proud of you already. But I’ve said it before, you’ve got to be careful around those hollywood types. I don’t know much about ‘em, but I don’t want them taking advantage of you.”

 

Stiles let out a long breath. “I’m starting to think that was the situation I was already in,” he admitted. It was pretty sad how excited he got at the prospect of having his own creative control. “The label controlled most of what we made before, but this is a different situation. I’d have a manager, instead of just an agent and a contract with a label.”

 

The sheriff chuckled. “Well, I’m sure it could be a full-time job for someone to try and manage you.”

 

“Gee, thanks, dad.” They spoke for only a couple more minutes before Stiles felt like he had reached a decision. “I’m gonna give it a go. Won’t know until I try, right?”

 

“That’s the spirit. Love you, son,” his father said.

 

“Love you too, dad.”

 

He took a moment to compose himself before going back to the room where Peter waited patiently. A cup of coffee was steaming where his empty plate had been, and Stiles scooped it up. “Okay. Let’s talk strategy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jackson was out of town, and Lydia had called Stiles up to accompany her to a cocktail party fundraiser. It was to raise money for an animal sanctuary that took in abandoned exotic pets, and some of the animals were going to be at the event. Stiles could hardly say no.

 

Lydia was already dressed and ready to go. Her cocktail dress was white and embroidered with gold and she looked like some kind of angel, rooting around in Stiles’ wardrobe for something for him to wear. “You really need to organize this better. Remind me later and I’ll send you the name of someone who can help.”

 

He was absolutely not going to do that. He stood patiently to the side in his socks and underwear, replying to an email from Peter, until Lydia threw an outfit at him. “How formal is this going to be?” he asked, looking at the blazer she had picked. 

 

“If you have to ask that, then you’re already underdressed. Now go put that on.”

 

She perched on the edge of his bed and waited while he disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later fully dressed. She clearly enjoyed playing dress-up with him; she had once said he was far more compliant than Jackson ever was, which made it more fun for her. “Forget the tie,” she decided, “and undo a few buttons.”

 

“It took forever to tie it, though,” Stiles complained, but did as she said. 

 

Lydia looked him up and down, and made him change his shoes, but finally deemed him presentable. “Now go do your hair up properly, and tell me about this new band.”

 

He wandered back into the bathroom, where she could still hear him. “It’s still in the works, but Peter found a drummer and a bassist, they seem like pretty cool guys. Totally willing to play along with my ideas. They’re twins, so they kind of have a weirdly awesome synchronization thing going on.”

 

“You met them already?”

 

“Yeah, Peter wanted them to audition for me.”

 

“And you’re going to play guitar?”

 

“Not just me.” He fought to fix his hair in some sort of style, knowing Lydia would march him right back in if she didn’t like it. “I’m not that good, I’ve gotta practice so I can stop from embarrassing myself on rhythm. I brought Kira in, she’s amazing — everyone else liked her sound, so yeah. That’s us.”

 

Lydia wandered in behind him, inspecting his work in the mirror. “Acceptable. Let’s go, I want to be in and out of there in two hours.”

 

“But that’s not going to be enough time to take selfies with all the cool animals!” Stiles protested, but followed her anyways. 

 

He had no idea whose house was hosting the event, but it was certainly an impressive spread. The driveway was full of shiny dark cars dropping people off, and inside the house was tastefully decorated, with open garden doors leading to the patio and pool. A big piano sat in the foyer, and above it was the head of some sort of gazelle, mounted on the wall. Seemed a bit tasteless for an animal fundraiser, Stiles thought. 

 

Lydia seemed to know more people there than Stiles did, and he was content to follow her around for a while. People did come up to speak to him as if they knew him, and he was constantly on edge trying to recall if he had forgotten who they were, or if they were simply being really forward. He suspected it was usually the latter. 

 

He thought idly that this seemed the sort of event Peter would look right at home attending. They had been spending a little time together lately but communicated constantly, and not always about business. Stiles got the sense that he would excel at this kind of fundraiser, if he wanted to. It was all about manipulating people into handing over their money, after all. 

 

“Tapas?” A woman hold a tray of food held it out towards him, startling him from his thoughts. 

 

He held up his glass of champagne, as if it made him look too busy to be able to take any of what looked to be caviar on Parisian toasts. No way he could stomach that right now. 

 

She wandered away and Stiles tried to tune into Lydia’s conversation. She had a circle of people around her — well, them, since he was practically glued to her side. “Of course, Tarsem Singh has been a major influence on my visual tastes — but I do try and capture a more abstract feel, something more Kandinsky inspired.”

 

A couple of the people nodded vigorously along as she spoke. Stiles could tell they were film-critic types. They all seemed to have a particular uniform, no matter what the occasion.

 

“Is that Stiles?” he heard a female voice call out from somewhere else in the room. It caught more than his attention, and he looked around to see Kate Argent striding towards him, her heels clicking on the marble floor. 

 

“Oh, hey Ms. Argent,” he said, hearing Lydia’s conversation drop off as she swivelled around to stand by him. “How’s it going?”

 

“Please, Stiles, I’ve told you to just call me Kate.” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t especially pleasant. “Lydia, it’s nice to see you again.”

 

Lydia just made a humming noise and didn’t say anything. Kate looked at Stiles expectantly. “So…” he looked around as if some distraction might appear. Nothing did. “Come to save the exotic animals, huh?”

 

Kate looked at him blankly for a split second before laughing. “Oh, no, this is my house! The foundation is one of my father’s little hobbies. We’re _such_ animal lovers,” she said, and Stiles thought of the gazelle head in the entryway. “Anyways, Stiles, how have you been since the big split? You doing okay?”

 

It didn’t sound like she actually cared, but he answered anyways. “Fine, keeping busy. How’s Scott doing? He said you’re his lead producer now, right?”

 

“Oh, he’s coming along. Stubborn as always — but you know how he is.” That most certainly didn’t sound like Scott, and it made Stiles nervous. 

 

Kate had produced their last two records, as well. They obviously did well commercially, but Stiles would be lying if he didn’t say that she was the greatest obstacle to the band actually creating anything that had the sound they aspired to. 

 

“Maybe you could talk to him,” she continued, “try to get him to be a little more cooperative. The only thing we need him to do is open his damn mouth and sing the songs we give him, and then smile for the cameras — it’s not that hard, and he was always able to manage it with the band, wasn’t he?”

 

Stiles considered a number of ways he could respond to this. None of them were particularly polite, and most of them were downright aggressive. He really needed to see Scott soon. 

 

Luckily Lydia intervened. “Well you know how boys are,” she laughed airily, stopping Kate from looking for a reply from Stiles. “Hey, Stiles, didn’t you want to see the animals? There are some here from the rescue, aren’t there, Kate?”

 

“Oh,” she looked a little startled, “yes, they’re out in the garden.” 

 

Lydia took Stiles’ hand and lead him away without saying goodbye. “Come on, I want you to take my photo with a tiger.”

 

There were far fewer people out where a number of employees from the rescue were looking after the animals. Lydia slowed their march before they reached a woman holding a monkey’s hand. “Ugh, I cannot stand her.”

 

“I can’t believe I let Scott get involved with them again,” Stiles sighed. “I should have stopped him from doing it. There are lots of other agencies out there, he could have found something — we could have found something else together.”

 

Lydia stepped to the side of a large ornamental rose bush and pulled out her lipstick and compact from her purse, setting about fixing her makeup. “It’s not your job to run his life, Stiles. I’m as disappointed as you are — Scott’s my friend too. But he willingly jumped into the middle of the Argent nightmare.”

 

“Allison excluded.”

 

“Obviously,” Lydia snapped the compact shut. “Allison is lovely. But it’s difficult to escape a family like hers. And now Scott’s got a new contract, and you know how hard those are to get out of — remember Kesha? He’s theirs till it runs out, so he might as well learn to deal with it.”

 

Stiles sighed, but he had to admit she was right. “I’m still worried about him.”

 

“Just be glad you got out when you did. You’ve got the Hales to deal with now, and they’re no walk in the park either.”

 

“I thought you said you liked Peter?”

 

“I said I liked his ideas,” she corrected, leading him over towards the monkey. “I’ve yet to form an opinion of him.”

 

“Well don’t rush into it. The two of you teaming up would be frightening,” Stiles shuddered, and squatted down to greet the little chimp. “Thank god you’re not in the music industry too.” 

 

Lydia was silent. Stiles looked up at her, and saw she had her scheming face on. “Shit. What?”

 

She tossed her head lightly and wouldn’t say anything. “Never you mind. Just play with the monkey.”

 

He did, but he was somewhat less happy about it.

 

* * *

 

 

So, it turned out that Derek’s mother owned a recording studio. Not a label, or anything like that, just the facility. It was an artsy looking brick building on the fringe of downtown LA and Peter had somehow managed to book an inordinate number of time slots for Stiles and the rest of the new band to practice. 

 

“My sister likes to travel,” Peter had offered as an explanation, “and leaves the bookings to me when she’s away. I’ve simply prioritized my work over the little indie groups that try and book this place.”

 

It was a comfortable place to work, more like a loft apartment than the stuffy recording booths Stiles was used to working in. The twins were messing around with their instruments while Stiles sat on the floor beside a leather couch, hunched over a notebook. Kira was sitting on the couch with her guitar in her lap, trying different melodies out. 

 

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned, bouncing his pencil eraser-first off the floor and back into his hand. “I’m stuck. I wanna get this done by the end of the day but I don’t know where to go with it.”

 

“How many songs do we have lined up so far?” Kira asked.

 

He wavered on his answer. “Well, about nine, but I only think maybe six of them are any good. And I’m still not totally happy with them.”

 

“You’re just being a perfectionist,” Kira shook her head. “I liked how they sounded. Ethan,” she called over to the twin on the bass, “what do you think of the tracks we worked on yesterday?”

 

“Sounded good,” he said, not looking up from his fretboard. “I’ve got some new progressions I want to try out, though.”

 

“See,” Kira turned back to Stiles, “that’s basically a rave review from him.”

 

He knew the songs sounded good. That wasn’t the issue, really. It was just, having all the creative control meant that Stiles never had to meet anyone’s particular approval to go forward, and he wasn’t used to it. The fact that nobody had shot down the bulk of the songs he brought in was weird enough. 

 

He stayed later in the evening than the others, Kira offering to drive the twins back to their apartment. He finished the song, but was determined to practice playing it until it was near perfect before he went home.

 

Unfortunately, his phone had other plans for him when it rang. “What’s up?” he answered when he saw it was Lydia calling.

 

“I’ve got a date for you for my premiere,” she informed him.

 

“I wasn’t aware I needed a date.”

 

“You don’t _need_ one, but you’re still taking one. Peter and I discussed it and you’re going to take him.”

 

Stiles nearly dropped his guitar onto the floor. “What? Wait, what? You — have you been talking with him?”

 

“Yes, we’ve had a couple of conversations about you. I think I do like him after all. He has a high opinion of you, at least, so I know he’s smart.”

 

There was something entirely menacing about the idea of those two sitting around on the phone with each other discussing him. “Okay, but why the date? I know I told you he’s a beefcake, but I believe we also both agreed it would be totally inappropriate for me to act on that opinion.”

 

“Workplace harassment is nothing to joke about, Stiles,” she scolded him. “But this is different. Don’t you want to piss off the Argents? I thought that was one of your hobbies.”

 

“I mean, it is,” he said as he went to hang his guitar up on the wall. “I know Peter doesn’t like them. But why would they care?”

 

Lydia made a dismissive noise. “I don’t know everything. Apparently he has some information about them that they’re nervous about.”

 

That didn’t surprise Stiles as much as it probably should have. He glanced towards the door to the stairs, briefly dancing his fingers over the top of an amp as he paced around. “You think this is a good idea?”

 

“I do.”

 

“You gonna tell me why?”

 

“I don’t like the way Kate talked about Scott,” she said simply. “Do I need more of a reason?”

 

She didn’t. Stiles felt the same way, and looking around the studio he was in now, he felt a bite of anger knowing Scott was back in the same old dated recording facility as before. 

 

He agreed to take Peter. Of course he did; he had nothing to object about, since the man was entirely presentable and charming and might even possibly be able to make the tedious parts of the premiere night more palatable. But he wasted no time in heading down the stairs to the floor where Peter had an office, and knocking on the door.

 

“I thought you’d all gone home,” Peter said as he turned his chair. The office was clearly decorated by some designer. The only thing that looked used was a bank of filing cabinets, and the laptop Peter was working on. 

 

Stiles didn’t wait for an invitation to make himself comfortable in a chair on the other side of the desk. “Had some stuff to do. Lydia called.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Don’t be cute. I’ve been informed I’m some sort of pawn between you and the Argents now,” he said, continuing on even though Peter looked like he wanted to interrupt. “Now, I’m willing to play along, seeing as I’m really into discovering how far I can make the vein in Chris Argent’s forehead pop out from stress, but I’m gonna need some more details first.”

 

Peter looked at him for a moment before rising and closing his office door. “There are still a few interns here,” he explained, returning to his seat. “First of all, you’re not a pawn, Stiles. This isn’t chess.”

 

“But if it was,” he pressed, “where exactly do I fit in?”

 

“Is it that hard to believe I’m not up to something?” Peter asked instead, pushing his laptop away so he could lean more thoroughly on the desk towards Stiles. “Perhaps I simply wanted to ask you out, and spun my conversation with Lydia to covertly make that happen.”

 

“Oh, I have no doubt that happened.” Stiles had thought of that potential scenario pretty damn quickly on his own. “But you’re obviously up to something. You were probably _born_ up to something. So tell me what the deal is with you and the Argents.”

 

Peter sighed. Stiles would have felt bad asking him, had Peter not already made it his problem. “It’s not exactly my story to tell. Unfortunately, I’m the only one able to tell it, so the task does fall to me.” He leaned back into his chair, a reflective sort of gloom settling over him. “It has to do with Derek, and with Kate Argent.”

 

Stiles was surprised. “I can’t exactly picture him starting a blood feud or whatever.”

 

“Precisely. Derek’s always been sensitive, and as I have said before, he is an excellent songwriter. But he started off writing poetry, as sensitive boys tend to do. He was quite good, won some competitions. Had a blog where his writing became popular.

 

“Kate met him at some literature event. He was only a teenager, mind you — she’s a few years older, and he thought he was in love with her. I’ll spare you the details, but she broke it off suddenly and he discovered his notebooks were all missing.”

 

“The hell would she want with moody teenager poetry?” Stiles frowned.

 

“I said something similar to console him at the time. But since Derek was a bit of a luddite and wrote all his poem drafts on paper, he lost some of his best work he was preparing for a book. Which is unfortunate, but not particularly tragic.”

 

It wasn’t difficult to reconcile the Derek that Stiles knew with the image of an emotional teen devastated by the loss of his personal writing. But that hardly seemed to account for all the animosity. “So this makes you rivals?”

 

“You’re a very good songwriter, Stiles,” Peter said, and Stiles looked at him confused. “Untested, but you’ve proven yourself recently with this new project. The Argents would never have allowed you that kind of creative freedom, they don’t take risks. They want chart-topping singles, and that is why you’ve never contributed to any of AlphaBeta’s top hits.”

 

Stiles ignored the implied insult, realizing what Peter was actually saying. “You’re kidding. No fucking way.”

 

He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, though his expression suggested otherwise. “It’s not just your band, any of the big acts that came out of Silver Bullet Records over the past decade have been profiting from Derek’s lyrics. There’s no evidence for it, of course — Kate’s too smart for that. But Derek can testify to this.”

 

“Shouldn’t you— Can’t you sue them, or something?” Stiles tried, already attempting to think of solutions. “That’s Derek’s intellectual property, he has copyright claims just by being the author.”

 

“We tried. The case was dismissed, as all we had was Derek’s testimony. He can’t keep defending himself or he’ll be charged with slander.” He rubbed his temples, clearly hitting a well-trod source of irritation. “She probably destroyed the notebooks long ago. If we push the story with the public, we’ll look pathetic. Sadly, nothing can be done to stop them from continuing.”

 

Stiles deflated. On the wall behind Peter he saw vinyl presses of Derek’s albums, each having performed exceptionally well on the charts. Stiles presumed Derek had written his own songs for them, and he begrudged him a little less for all his talent, now. “So, then its retaliation by being more successful,” he figured.

 

“Unless you have some sort of problem with that.”

 

“No way. Fuck, I’ve benefitted from this,” Stiles realized, running a hand back through his hair. “Derek’s teenage poetry paid my bills. Fucking Kate.”

 

“You didn’t know,” Peter said. It didn’t make Stiles feel any better. Peter seemed to sense his change in mood and didn’t press the issue. “The premiere will be the perfect opportunity to remind the Argents of their greatest mistake.”

 

“Messing with your family?” Stiles guessed. 

 

Peter smiled at him, leaving Stiles feeling somehow exposed. “Underestimating people,” he corrected. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia did change Stiles’ outfit two more times before the premiere. It was actually fewer times than he had expected. She micromanaged under stress, so it was strange to hear her so calm on the phone. “Premieres aren’t as big a deal as they once were, Stiles,” she reasoned, and he could hear her hair stylist talking in the background. “It won’t be broadcast, just photographed. The actors will be interviewed but they know what to say already. And you’re going to be carefully supervised, so I expect it will actually be a bit dull.”

 

“He’s not supervising me,” Stiles argued. He was standing in front of his living room window watching the sun setting, already dressed for the event. Lydia had called in order to make sure he didn’t flop down on his couch and crease his suit, or, as she put it, get Dorito dust on it. “It’s cool. It’s casual. We’re just going to roll up, smile for some photos, watch a movie, definitely not hold hands or anything during it. Totally casual.”

 

“You’re rambling,” Lydia remarked blithely. “It’s fine if you’re nervous.”

 

He wasn’t nervous. Well, not about being there with Peter. Being there with Peter in full view of the public eye, that was a bit more anxiety-inducing. “Just tell me I’m not going to look like an idiot.”

 

“You’re not. Stiles, he’s literally your manager, his job is to make you look good. Just play along, and I’ll come check on you at some point.”

 

“Thanks, Lyds,” he sighed. A bell sounded, and he saw a message light up the comm pad by the door. “Matt says the car’s here. I gotta go.”

 

“I won’t be far behind,” Lydia said, and wished him luck. He wished her the same before heading to the elevator. 

 

Matt was waiting for him in the lobby, though he could see Peter’s car out on the road. “This came for you,” he passed Stiles a small envelope, his address embossed on the front. He turned it over and saw the stylized _Silver Bullet Records_ logo imposed over a ghostly letter A. 

 

Stiles still had it in his hand when he climbed into the car. “You look very nice,” Peter complimented him, before catching sight of the logo on the envelope and narrowing his eyes. “What is that?”

 

Peter was wearing a dark suit and a deep red shirt, and had foregone any tie so the front was open just enough that Stiles had to turn all of his attention onto the mail in order to avoid doing anything embarrassing. “Don’t know, it just arrived.” 

 

He tore it open as the car pulled away from the side of the road. A card slid out, and Scott’s face looked up at him. The other side was an invitation. “They’re having a listening party for Scotty’s new single,” he read out. “Guess it would be odd if they didn’t invite me.”

 

“Hmm,” Peter gestured for the card when he was done reading it. “How quaint. We’ll discuss it later,” he slid it away into a pocket, tossing the envelope aside. “The others should be arriving just ahead of us. I’ve heard there is some excitement surrounding your arrival, however. Surely that can’t have anything to do with the Spielberg premiere last November?”

 

Stiles felt himself flush, and hoped it was dark enough out that it wasn’t noticeable. “It was just a misunderstanding,” he said, though Peter had to know that already. So he had shown up with both Erica and Boyd as his dates, since they really wanted to see the early screening of the latest dinosaur film, and he didn’t have anyone else to take. So the media had presumed it meant they were in some sort of romantic triad, not helped one bit by Boyd putting his arm on Stiles’ shoulders and Erica grabbing his butt in front of the photographers. Big deal. It had at least given him the opportunity to clarify his bisexuality to the fans. 

 

Sooner than he expected they entered the line of cars dropping people off at the end of the red carpet. Stiles drummed his fingers anxiously on the seat beside him, glad his palms were dry when Peter grabbed his hand to reassure him. “It’s an honour to see the process behind your usual poise,” he said, all sarcasm. Stiles couldn’t help snorting a laugh. 

 

But Peter was right. The moment the car door opened, his public mask slid into place, and Stiles stepped out smiling into the camera flashes. 

 

They had gone over the plan for the red carpet earlier. The first step was to pay little mind to the paparazzi, and to look entirely engrossed in one another. This was easily done, as Peter kept leaning down to tell Stiles bits of extremely personal gossip he had gathered about celebrities they walked past, making him burst out laughing more than once. 

 

The second step was to join up with Derek and Laura, who were lingering ahead of them. Laura was with her husband, and Isaac stood on his toes to wave Stiles and Peter over from beside Derek. They made a big show of meeting up with one another, Laura even going so far as to kiss Stiles on both cheeks — it was the first time they had even met, but it didn’t appear that way. 

 

“We really should have been introduced sooner,” she said to Stiles, brushing her long dark hair back from her face. She and Cora looked a lot alike, he noticed. It hadn’t been apparent in photographs, but their mannerisms were the same. “I can give you a lot of advice about working with my family. You already screwed up the first tip, which is _just don’t_ , but seeing as you’re already involved I guess I can still help you out.”

 

“Oh my god, yes, please,” Stiles said, seeing how Derek rolled his eyes. “I want all the blackmail material I can get my hands on.” 

 

Laura beamed and seemed to take to him instantly. They spoke for a few more minutes before Stiles felt a hand on his waist and Peter was pulling him back. “Don’t turn around,” he said softly, close enough to Stiles’ ear that the hair on his neck stood up, “but Scott and Allison Argent are coming up the carpet towards us.”

 

Peter moved back but didn’t take his hands off Stiles, who caught himself before instinctively spinning around to find his friend. He took a deep breath, careful to keep his expression neutral as he resumed listening to Laura tell Derek about something cute her daughter had done that day. 

 

“Stiles?” he heard Scott say, and turned as if he were surprised to see him holding Allison’s hand and stopping in front of their little group. 

 

“Hey dude,” he nodded, giving them each a smile. But from the expression on their faces, none of the Hales did the same. “You guys look nice.”

 

It was true, they did. Scott looked wholesome in his suit and tie and Allison had on a sparkling knee-length dress that caught the light when she moved. It was silver, which was probably way too predictable. “Thanks,” Scott said, looking past Stiles for a moment. “You’re here with…?”

 

He already knew Derek, but Stiles introduced them all to Scott anyways. “And Peter’s my manager now,” he gestured back to the man as he loomed over Stiles’ shoulder. He could only guess at what kind of face Peter was making, and he refused to check. 

 

Allison looked incredibly uncomfortable all of a sudden, taking Scott’s hand. “Is this what you were talking about when you said ‘secret project’?” he asked, holding his ground despite Allison trying to prompt him to leave. 

 

“Yeah, bro. I know we’ve both been busy, but…we should probably catch up soon,” Stiles said, cognizant of the camera flashes going off around them. This was one part of the plan he didn’t particularly like, though he recognized the importance of getting a photo of him and Scott together. The moment might have been staged, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t speaking truthfully. “I mean it, call me tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Scott agreed, still looking a little confused. Allison finally managed to coax him away, and with one last glance at Stiles, Scott followed his girlfriend into the theatre. 

 

Laura watched them go before turning back to Stiles. “I heard it’s been hard for you to see him lately,” she said, with a sympathetic look. “It sucks, I’m sorry. The Argents aren’t really known for their compassion.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Stiles said, the words sounding harsher than he meant. 

 

A commotion was coming up towards them and the group waited as Lydia strolled up to them, Jackson on her arm and a swarm of people attending to them. They parted like the red sea though when Lydia stopped in front of Stiles, greeting him as if it had been years. “I saw what just happened,” she said quietly in the middle of hugging him. “It’ll be worth it. He’s still your best friend, remember that.”

 

She pulled away and before Jackson could say anything, Lydia led them over to where a reporter was waiting with a microphone and camera to get a quick interview. “That’s our cue,” Peter said, and the six of them left the carpet together, disappearing inside the theatre.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ phone woke him up. He was hit with a headache the instant he opened his eyes to grapple through his duvet to find the source of the ringtone, the morning light streaming in through his bedroom windows and landing squarely on his bed. Some mornings he liked lying in the sunbeams, stretching out like a cat. This was not one of those mornings.

 

“Damn, you look awful,” came Cora’s voice when he blindly hit the accept button. He hadn’t realized it was a video call, and dropped the phone back down so the camera faced the ceiling. “Okay, sorry. Sensitive. Didn’t realize you were the primadonna type.”

 

“Shhhhh,” he hissed out, blocking out the light with his pillow. “‘m dying. Already died, probably. Being a ghost feels terrible.”

 

Cora took a moment to have a great laugh at his expense. “Well, I’ll keep this brief, then, but as your official public relations assistant, I figured it was my duty to bring you the breaking news as soon as it was out.”

 

Stiles forced his eyes to adjust to the light and blinked rapidly, struggling to recall why he felt this way. Right, Lydia’s premiere. The movie had been amazing. And…an after party, of course. At Lydia’s house? He couldn’t remember going anywhere unfamiliar, so it must have been. 

 

The rest, though, was kind of a muddle. He groaned and picked up the phone to look at Cora. “I don’t remember what happened.”

 

“Well from what I hear, you partied pretty hard. Some candids from the party surfaced, they’re on twitter, but I’ll text them to you.” She looked well put together for whatever hour in the morning it was. Stiles would have checked, but the video call was obscuring the time on his phone. “Here, check these tabloids out. You made the cover of a few, so good job.”

 

She pointed her camera over a stack of magazines and let Stiles read the headlines, one by one. They all revolved around the same theme: an apparent break in the epic bromance of Stiles and Scott, and speculation about a rivalry forming between them. “Scotty looks so sad,” he said, recognizing the moment that had been photographed. In some of the photos Allison was cropped out, but Cora opened the magazines to show him the full photo inside. It looked like she was dragging Scott away from Stiles unwillingly. “Ugh, that’s so shitty.”

 

“I’m sure she’ll manage,” Cora sniffed, flipping to the next cover. “She’s got her own PR person, they can worry about making sure it doesn’t seem like she’s controlling Scott’s life.” 

 

When they had gone through the headlines, Stiles sighed, propping the phone up on the pillow beside him so he could roll over. “Well, mission accomplished, I guess. I very clearly have ‘HALE’ stamped all over me. Any word on how the Argents are reacting?”

 

“Too early to tell. I’ve spent all morning daydreaming about it,” she looked wistful, propping her chin up on her hand. “Are they panicked? Fighting amongst one another? Convincing themselves they have nothing to worry about? So many possibilities, I can’t pick which I like most.”

 

“Your family is very vengeful,” Stiles remarked, burrowing into his pillow. “Remind me never to cross any of you.”

 

He missed the sly grin on Cora’s face as he let his eyes fall closed again. “Might be a little late for that. Don’t you remember what happened at the party?”

 

Stiles’ eyes shot open. “What. No, what happened?”

 

“I’ll text you the photos, like I said. Call Peter after. He’s at home right now.” She winked at him and ended the call. 

 

Well, that did nothing to make him feel at ease. He rolled out of bed and stumbled to find some Advil and water while he waited for her texts to come through. 

 

**From Cora:** These weren’t in the mags because they were posted on snapchat and only started circulating this morning. 

 

**From Cora:** <picture attachments>

 

Stiles flopped back onto the bed, winced, and opened the photos. 

 

It was him, clearly intoxicated, and wrapped around…Derek. The photos were blurry but there was no mistaking that it was exactly not the Hale that Stiles had an active interest in being wrapped around. He flicked through the different shots and absolutely understood how it looked to an outsider. And if he knew himself, there was…yep, there it was. A photo with Isaac sitting on his lap, and Derek’s arm around them both. Great. 

 

“Can I get through a single premiere without looking like I’m in a relationship with my _friends_?” he asked the duvet from where his face was planted in it. 

 

Already he started to run through mitigation tactics. He had to contact Peter. Where was he when these photos were taken? Did he know about them? Did he care?

 

The first person he texted, though, was Derek. 

 

**To Derek:** Hungover, can’t remember party. Saw photos. ???

 

He sent the message and stared at the conversation for a full minute. When nothing happened, he figured Derek wasn’t sitting around on his phone, and tried to make himself busy until he got a reply.

 

After showering and eating lunch — it was already noon — the phone chimed. He nearly dove over the couch to pick it up and read Derek’s reply. 

 

**From Derek** : Yeah, you and Isaac started doing shots. He’s still asleep. 

 

**From Derek:** Nothing happened, though I know it doesn’t look that way. You guys were pretty drunk. I was keeping eavesdroppers away and trying to make you both drank water.

 

Stiles frowned and opened up the photos again. That actually seemed like a reasonable explanation of what was going on in them. He opened messaging again. 

 

**To Derek:** Where was Peter???

 

**From Derek** : He left with Laura and Jordan. Told me to look after you.

 

It took Stiles a minute to remember Jordan was Laura’s husband. He was slowly starting to remember pieces of the night — the party at Lydia’s was unreal, and lots of people he knew were there, if he was remembering their faces correctly. He remembered arriving there with Peter, but the man seemed to disappear from his recollection after that. 

 

Steeling himself, Stiles called Peter. Just audio, because he didn’t think he could handle watching Peter’s expression as he fumbled through — an explanation? An apology? He didn’t even know if he owed him one. 

 

The call went to voicemail, and he didn’t bother to leave one. He waited a few minutes and tried again. Still no reply.

 

He began to get paranoid. He put his phone on the coffee table so he could stare at it and piece together the events of the night. 

 

Okay. Red carpet went perfectly. Sat down beside Peter and watched the movie. No, wait, he had champagne before that. Then after they had mingled in the theatre lounge, and he had been at the bar. Scott had been there. They had hugged, he remembered Scott smelled like some apple-scented perfume that Allison wore. That wasn’t so bad, then. Clearly they had left the theatre on good terms.

 

And then he and Peter had driven to Lydia’s house, and—

 

Oh, shit.

 

He had totally kissed Peter in the car.

 

Suddenly he looked at his phone like it was a venomous snake, about to lunge out at him. If Peter called him back now, how would he explain himself? He had been under the impression that they were both maintaining their distance for the sake of their professional relationship. And he’d gone and fucked that up, putting the moves on Peter, and made it weird. Peter had dumped him on Derek and Isaac and left, and Stiles had gotten sad-drunk and cuddled Isaac and gotten himself photographed. 

 

Great.

 

Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea he ran through his room to find glasses and a beanie and threw them on, grabbing the keys to his car from the top of the dresser. He wasn’t about to wait for a driver to be called, and typed in the address Peter had given him into his GPS as he took the elevator down.

 

“Turn left onto Walgrove Avenue,” a voice narrated out to him as he drummed his hands on the steering wheel, cursing LA traffic for not the first time. 

 

“I fucked up, Siri,” he said back, pulling his beanie down a little further when the driver of the car next to him gave him an odd look. “I pounced on Peter and now he hates me. Lydia was right, I need to stop drinking so much. Remind me not to tell her that, though.”

 

“Turn left onto Rose Avenue,” was all that Siri said in reply.

 

He pulled up to Peter’s house eventually, already feeling out of place. It was a very nice house, of course, but Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he went to a house in a proper, normal neighbourhood. He sat in the car in the driveway for a whole minute before finally going up to the door and knocking.

 

It took a moment, but it swung open. Peter stood there, wearing jeans and one of his ridiculous v-neck t-shirts and barefoot. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and coffee in his hand, and Stiles quickly remembered why he was there.

 

“I’m so sorry, dude, I’m the worst,” he launched into his apology before Peter could say anything. “I was totally inappropriate, and I know we’ve had this sort of sexual tension thing going on but I really don’t mean to jeopardize our work together, and I know you probably want to quit as my manager, but I swear nothing happened with Derek or Isaac even though it looks that way, and…” he trailed off rambling, not sure how to conclude the thought. “I’m just the worst.”

 

Peter looked at him for a moment, before snagging the front of Stiles’ shirt and pulling him inside. “Well, get off the street, first of all.”

 

Stiles followed him into a living room, noticing how incredibly accurately the furnishings matched Peter’s personality. It was as if he’d been turned into a bungalow sponsored by Crate & Barrel. The curtains were all open and the sun beamed in, reminding Stiles of his low-grade headache. When Peter sat at one end of his couch, Stiles was grateful to take up the other end, his back to the windows. 

 

“Are you mad at me?” Stiles asked, shifting awkwardly as he tried to find a comfortable position on the leather cushions. 

 

“I’m not mad, Stiles.”

 

“Then are you…disappointed?” He squinted, trying to parse Peter’s expression. “You gotta help me out here, I’ve already nearly had a panic attack today.”

 

“Not for the reasons you seem to presume,” he said, sipping his coffee and looking elsewhere. 

 

Stiles didn’t quite know what else to say. After Peter was silent for another moment, he started to get up. “Maybe I should go—“

 

“Stay,” Peter commanded, and Stiles sat right back down. “You must understand that your rather long list of reasons why it was a bad idea to kiss me was perhaps not the first thing I wanted to hear after you seized the moment.”

 

Stiles took off his glasses with a sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Ugh, I usually have more tact than that. Well, not a lot more, but still.”

 

“If you weren’t interested in getting involved, you should have just made that clear,” Peter continued. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I _am_ capable of working with people without fucking them. I manage family members, after all.”

 

“It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that it’s a bad idea,” Stiles clarified. “Lydia says not to mix business with pleasure. No bueno. I don’t want to fuck up our dynamic.”

 

“Lydia says,” Peter repeated back flatly. He put aside his coffee, his demeanour changing back to something more familiar. “But you are interested.”

 

“Huh?” Stiles didn’t know why that was what Peter was taking from that. “I mean, was that not obvious? I spend way too much of my day worrying about hiding it, frankly. If you haven’t—“

 

He was cut off before he could finish the sentence by Peter pouncing on him from across the couch. He pressed himself down in Stiles, kissing him hard enough to chase away the ghost of the awkward anxiety-ridden kiss Stiles had given him the night before. 

 

Groaning, Stiles freed his arms from his side and gripped the back of Peter’s neck, pulling him in closer and biting at his lower lip. Peter made a rumbling sound before his tongue worked its way into the kiss, and Stiles completely melted. 

 

“I told you,” Peter murmured when he was satisfied with Stiles’ mouth and had moved down his jaw with kisses, “I can tell what people want. And I couldn’t figure out why you were suddenly developing morals over this.”

 

“B-blame Scott,” Stiles stuttered out as Peter nipped at the sensitive skin on his neck, sending a rush of heat pooling down his body. “Never had them before. Think I’m totally over it, though.”

 

“You sure?” Peter worked a hand around to his lower back and lifted Stiles’ hips up to grind them together way too easily. He had known there was a reason Peter’s defined arms made him drool. “We can still stop. I promise I’ll be strictly professional.” He caught Stiles’ gaze, his eyes dark and heavy. It didn’t sound like he meant it.

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, barely holding himself together at this point. He glanced around the living room quickly. “So, this is a nice house. Does it have a bedroom?”

 

It wasn’t quick, but eventually they were sprawled across Peter’s bed. The blankets and sheets were already rumpled, and if Stiles had spent more time thinking about it, he would have guessed that Peter spent most of the morning in it. As it was, he tugged at Peter’s shirt until he yielded and let it be removed. 

 

There should be laws against this sort of thing, he thought, running his hands over Peter’s chest. He was so built it was almost ridiculous. And judging from the smirk on his face, he was all too aware of what Stiles was thinking. “Oh, shut up,” he said, tugging him back down into a kiss. 

 

They eventually divested Stiles of his clothing and Peter ran his hands down his sides, his thighs, only pausing when he sat back on his heels to rake his eyes up Stiles’ body. “Look at you,” he sighed, almost reverent. “Millions of people would kill to have you like this, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen the tweets,” Stiles grimaced, trying to distract from how he blushed under the attention. But Peter only leaned forward to chase the red flush on his chest with his tongue. 

 

When he fucked into Stiles later, between the searing pleasure and being pressed into the silk sheets — and of course they were silk, Stiles would later think — Peter talked to him, sometimes meaningless syllables and fragmented bits of praise, but other times promises. “Going to make you a star,” he murmured, his thrusts forcing answering groans out of Stiles. “So when everyone wants you, and when they see you on stage — fuck — they’ll know,” his hips stuttered for a moment, “know you’re mine, aren’t you Stiles?”

 

Stiles hissed out as Peter’s mouth on his shoulder turned into a gentle bite. Damn, if his possessive dirty talk didn’t do it for him. He came from Peter’s hand jerking him off, tight and slick, and it didn’t take much for Peter to do the same. 

 

He dozed in and out of sleep as Peter carefully settled them both down into the bed, cleaned them up, and wrapped the blanket up around Stiles shoulder before pulling them together. The air conditioning was on high and it was cool in the house, and Stiles couldn’t quite recall the last time he had been so comfortable. Peter’s arm was a weight around his waist and he fell asleep fully much faster than he would ever admit. 

 

After a couple of hours he was woken up by the sound of a phone ringing, and the weight of Peter behind him disappeared for a few seconds as he left to get it. He came back speaking in soft tones, sliding back into bed while talking. 

 

Stiles listened with his eyes closed. It sounded like Cora, and they were discussing the press from the previous night, after Peter assured her that things were fine between him and Stiles. “If you don’t believe me, I can wake him up and hand him the phone,” Peter offered, and Stiles could hear the smirk in his voice. He couldn’t make out what Cora said back, but it sounded somewhat repulsed. 

 

When the call ended, Stiles stretched like a cat and rolled over. Peter chuckled and kissed him on the forehead. “If this is what I was missing out on before, I’m a total idiot,” Stiles said, basking in the attention. “I’ve been wasting my time jerking off in the shower thinking about you when I could have been doing this.” The idea that he could have held himself back from Peter before seemed almost criminal, now.

 

Peter went still for a moment, before groaning and burying his face in Stiles’ hair. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he sighed. He didn’t sound too unhappy about it. 

 

* * *

 

 

The new band was called Ramsey. “It’s a great name,” Laura defended as she sat in on one of their practices. 

 

“You just think that because it’s your cat’s name,” Ethan said, tuning his bass. 

 

Laura shrugged. “But short band names are popular right now. Easy to remember, easy to merchandise. Stiles doesn’t mind, do you Stiles?”

 

He startled up from his lyrics sheet, where he was making more adjustments to a song. “What? Yeah, Ramsey is the best cat ever. He deserves an entire band dedicated to him.”

 

Laura had reached out to Stiles only a couple of days after the premiere to invite him over for lunch, and it had become a somewhat regular thing for them. He had even looked after the cat for a weekend while she took Jordan and their daughter Tabby on a holiday. “He is a pretty great cat,” Kira had to agree. 

 

It was a week until Scott’s single release, and they were working hard to record the preliminary tracks for their own album. They had discussed attending Scott’s party as a group, but in the end decided to all stay away. “I’ll explain it to him myself,” Stiles had reasoned, and after an excruciating text negotiation with his best friend, managed to plan hangouts with him the day before the release. 

 

Returning to the sound stage, they started practicing again, Laura clapping along as Kira executed the guitar solos she put together and Stiles exaggeratedly ground his hips against the microphone stand. Laura laughed and laughed, until Cora and Peter came up from the offices to catch the tail end of the rehearsal.

 

“You’ve got a great sound,” Cora decided, after judging them with her arms folded through the last two songs. “I can see why Peter’s so optimistic.”

 

“I don’t bet on losing teams,” he replied haughtily, but he caught Stiles’ eye and he could tell it was all airs. 

 

Stiles had been spending an increasing amount of time at Peter’s house since the first time they slept together. Everyone in the studio was aware of their relationship, plus Lydia and Derek, of course, but beyond that, they had attempted to keep it quiet.

 

They had been in agreement about that point. They were in a precarious place right before producing a debut album, and while a little media speculation about the nature of their relationship based on occasional sightings in public together was fine, breaking news about them dating would threaten to overshadow the band. 

 

And they were dating. Stiles hadn’t been totally sure, at first, but Peter had made it very clear that his intentions were serious. Which, okay, made Stiles’ stomach flutter a little. He hadn’t been in anything close to a serious relationship in years, which he could admit was probably due to the aura of casual-ness that he gave off. He was grateful that Peter found it amusing, instead of deterring. He had even called Heather to tell her he was seeing someone, and she had sounded genuinely happy for him.

 

After the rehearsal, Peter invited him out for dinner, but Stiles had to turn him down. “Kira’s already beat you to it,” he admitted, disappointed to have to miss out on a date, but he had been really looking forward to what she had planned. “But I’ll come by after seeing Scott tomorrow?”

 

Peter sighed as if he were terribly put-upon, but leaned in to peck Stiles on the lips before leaving. Stiles watched him go, only snapping out of his daze when he heard a phone camera go off. “You need to see your face,” Kira insisted, showing him the picture after he started blushing. “You’re so smitten, it’s the cutest thing.”

 

“You could at least pretend that I’m somewhat cool about this,” he grumbled, busying himself with unplugging cables and winding them up into neat little piles. He had left them in a tangled heap once and then heard that one of the interns had to stay hours after work setting them right again. Needless to say he wasn’t about to do that again. 

 

“I’m just glad you seem happier now,” Kira said as she helped him. “You seemed kind of…repressed, before. But with the new band, and with Peter, it looks like you’re in a better place.”

 

He didn’t say anything back for a minute. “I just wish Scott could be here.”

 

Kira gave him a sympathetic look. When it was just them left in the studio, she pulled out the backpack she had tucked away behind a couch where nobody would notice it. “Okay, now we’re having nothing but fun for the rest of the night. Transformation time,” she smiled, dragging Stiles over to sit down.

 

She helped him brush his hair back and put on a dark blonde wig, the style just a bit longer than his usual one, and she dabbed a thick concealer over the moles on his face. “Eventually this isn’t going to be enough of a disguise,” she remarked, inspecting her work and then handing him other things from the bag — thick rimmed glasses, a flat-brimmed hat, and an outfit he would normally never pick out for himself. They turned their backs to each other to change, Kira pulling on a cute dress and then making Stiles hold a mirror up for her as she affixed a long, light brown wig of her own. The curls sat around her shoulders, and she looked very cute. 

 

“Well, we could always try doing drag again. I mean, it was only one time, but I think I pulled it off,” he said, checking himself in the mirror before putting it back in the bag. Someone would have to be very perceptive, and probably very sober, to start to suspect who he was. “You did a great job with the makeup.”

 

“It was a lot of work,” she recalled, not particularly eager to perform that transformation again. But it was true that when Stiles was still hiding behind the drums, he could sneak around fairly easily in a disguise. As the frontman to the new group, it would be much harder, since people would be more focused on his face. 

 

They made it out of the studio without running into anyone and waited at the bus stop around the corner. Nobody gave them a second glance as they paid their fares and found seats in the back. “Have you thought about what you’re going to talk about with Scott tomorrow?” Kira asked, since nobody else could hear them over the noise from the bus engine. 

 

“I think he’ll understand about not going to the release party,” Stiles said. He had been thinking about what he would say constantly. Cora and Peter had both offered suggestions, but there was no way he was letting them run interference for him and Scott. They could manage his public face, not his friendships. “But I’m gonna try and get him to tell me the truth about what’s going on with the Argents. I can tell he’s not happy. If they’re being dicks to him, I need to know.”

 

“But what could you do?” Kira frowned. She didn’t know Scott very well but since he had been a topic of conversation around the studio for ages, she’d formed some opinions on the matter. “It’s not like they’d listen to you if you asked them to treat him better. And if he’s signed a contract, there’s not much chance he’ll have room to get out of it.”

 

This, Stiles knew to be true. He had gotten Scott to send over a copy of his contract just a few days after signing it, when Stiles had stopped moping and started feeling responsible for Scott’s predicament. He had read every page of it, and scolded himself for not doing so before encouraging Scott to sign. There was no way out of the contract, unless the Argents themselves terminated it. So they could behave how they liked, but Scott had to stay in line or else they would drop him from the label. 

 

The bus took them to a warehouse district of Los Angeles just after the sun had set, and they were nearly the only ones left on the bus. The driver gave them a strange look as they exited into the quiet industrial area, but didn’t say a word, driving away and leaving them in the dark. 

 

“It wouldn’t hurt them to install some lights,” Stiles complained, using the flashlight on his phone to light their steps away from the road and towards one of the back warehouses. 

 

Kira took his arm to watch her step. “Yeah, but that would sort of defeat the purpose of a secret venue, wouldn’t it?” 

 

Standing at the metal door on the side of the building, she knocked loudly, and it slid open. There was a small room with another door on the other side, and a bouncer prevented them from going any further. He eyed them silently. 

 

“Kojak with a Kodak,” Kira said, and the man stared, nodded, and opened the next door for them to pass through.

 

The music had been muted before by the excellent insulation, but as they stepped through the heavy bass shook every cell in their bodies. “You’ve never told me where you find the passwords,” Stiles had to shout in Kira’s ear for her to hear him. 

 

“Facebook group,” was all she said back, before taking his hand and dragging him out to the floor where the rave was already in full swing.

 

They had started going to these underground events a couple of years ago, when Stiles was still new in Los Angeles and Kira was eager to show him a different side to the city than what he was learning from the Argents. He probably would have been bored with the whole Hollywood deal pretty quickly had Kira not made it her mission to scope out new secret events for them every couple of weeks. The anonymity was refreshing, and they would dance until they were bone-tired.

 

Stiles never drank at these events, either. He’d sworn off it after his drink was spiked one time, grateful that Kira had recognized it quickly and gotten him back to her apartment to sleep it off. But the crowds were too thick and he couldn’t be vigilant enough to trust that he’d avoid a second incident. So, they ended up being probably the only sober ravers in the warehouses.

 

After one in the morning they stumbled outside, sweating and exhausted and bursting with laughter. Stiles waved to the bouncer as Kira called them a cab, leaning on her shoulder heavily in imitation of all the drunk twenty-somethings that lingered around outside. “I want a shower,” he complained, working hard to resist the urge to tear off his disguise and let his scalp be free. “And a cheeseburger, and curly fries.”

 

“Oh man, me too,” Kira commiserated, and parked herself on the curb to wait for their ride. “My feet are going to be so sore tomorrow. But at least I can sleep in.”

 

The rest of the band had the day off tomorrow, since Stiles needed time to see Scott and they were ready to start recording their tracks. The day after they were due to move from the practice stage to the recording studio, and everyone was excited about it. 

 

“Did you see the girl inside wearing the AlphaBeta shirt?” Stiles asked, sitting beside Kira and picking at the laces of his shoes. They were beat-up converse and he saved them especially for these nights. “She was trying to dance up on me, would’ve been funny if I told her who I was.”

 

“She wouldn’t have believed you,” Kira laughed. She was probably right. The stark difference between his persona on the day-to-day and the one he had on their nights out was probably why he enjoyed it so much. 

 

When he climbed into bed later that night, stomach full of late-night diner food and a goodnight text on his phone from Kira, Stiles realized that he’d stopped putting on his public mask around Peter entirely. When had that happened? He was as comfortable with the man as he was with any of his closest friends, enjoying their time together at Peter’s house or Stiles’ apartment just as much as his nights out raving in disguise. 

 

He sighed into his pillow, hugging it close. Maybe he was getting soft.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re getting soft,” Cora chirped into his ear, as he had his headphones in to receive her call as he sat in the back of his car. He was on the way to Scott’s apartment and she had called him even though she knew this, stating in her text that it was urgent. “I’m doing my best to try and build a way to market you as this sort of Alex Turner/James Dean hybrid, and you’re making it stupidly difficult.”

 

“What did I do?” he asked defensively, gulping down a coffee. He was still exhausted from his late night out with Kira and had almost overslept. “I thought I was supposed to stay out of trouble.”

 

“There’s _good_ trouble and _bad_ trouble,” Cora sighed at him. “You need one and not the other. But you’ve been too gooey over my uncle since Lydia’s premiere, and people are starting to get bored.”

 

“Bored,” he repeated. He was in the middle of creating an album, how was he supposed to simultaneously stir up attention?

 

“Yeah. I’ve been on twitter, some of your fans are speculating that you’re stepping out of the spotlight to settle down or whatever. They’re still sharing that one photo someone took of you and Peter buying yams together — the one where you’re wearing a pathetic excuse for a disguise and are cradling a sweet potato like it’s the baby Jesus.”

 

He frowned. It was a totally cute photo of them together. But he did see her point. “Okay, well, we’ve already worked on toning down our appearances together. But I don’t know what else we can do.”

 

“I’ve got a plan,” she said slowly, “but you’re probably not going to like it. Peter’s going to hate it. But it’s a good idea so we’re going to go through with it.”

 

“Uh huh,” Stiles was skeptical. “Well, what is it?”

 

“Not telling yet. But I’ll have the details worked out soon, just wait.”

 

She sounded like she was up to something, but ended the call before Stiles could pry her for more information. 

 

He would have to deal with her later, as he was pulling up in front of Scott’s apartment building. It was a high rise, compared to the six-story building Stiles lived in, which made it easier to wander in without anyone paying him much attention. He made his way to the twentieth floor and had barely knocked when the door flew open and Scott was there, beaming at him. 

 

There was no awkwardness between them, as they hugged and Stiles smelled Melissa’s lasagna recipe floating through the air, making him nearly burst out in joyful tears. They sat on the floor in front of the television and ate lunch, and Stiles felt something settle inside him that he hadn’t realized was displaced. He had missed this, just hanging out with his best friend. 

 

“I get why you aren’t coming tomorrow,” Scott said, electing to be the first to bring up one of many elephants in the room. “I wouldn’t go either if I didn’t have to. At least Allison is going to be there with me.”

 

“Oh yeah, where is she?” Stiles realized that she was missing from the apartment, when she had always been a staple there before. 

 

Scott shrugged. “Said she was going to go to the shooting range for the afternoon. She wanted to give us space, I guess.”

 

The hesitant way he added the last part made Stiles remember the photographs from the red carpet, and he felt awful. “She knows I still love her, right? I mean, I hate her family, but Ally’s different. She’s part of our crew, she didn’t need to leave.”

 

It was obvious that Scott was relieved to hear him say it. “She knows, I think. It’s just been stressful for everyone, Kate’s been kind of demanding, and she got worse after, uh…”

 

He trailed off, but Stiles knew what he meant. 

 

Should he tell Scott what he knew about Kate’s feud with the Hales? It was tempting, and he didn’t want his best friend to be left in the dark when he was caught in the middle of everything. But when he weighed his options, telling him would only make promoting his new single — a song written by and stolen from Derek, no less — a nightmare for Scott. He was too honest for his own good. 

 

Stiles should have told him to get out of the business when he had the chance. 

 

“I’m sorry about that, bro. I should have told you what I was up to sooner, but it wasn’t really the kind of thing I could explain over the phone.”

 

“No, I get it,” Scott hurried to say, “That’s my fault too. But I still don’t know everything, so maybe we can catch up, and then play some Call of Duty?” He looked hopefully between Stiles and the television.

 

Stiles could have leaped up and hugged him, but he didn’t want to drop his plate of lasagna. He spent the rest of the afternoon telling Scott all about the Hales, the new band and all the creative control he’d been given for the new album. Even when they turned on the Xbox and started gaming, he rambled on, getting Scott to tell him all about working with the Argents as a solo artist.

 

It wasn’t pretty. As he’d expected, Scott was being left out of most of the decision-making for his image, his public appearances, and his songs. It didn’t sound like he cared much at all about the album that would presumably be following his single release, shrugging when Stiles asked him what it was called. “I don’t think they decided yet,” he said, focused on the game, “Kate and Chris were having a hard time agreeing.”

 

Stiles left just before dinner time, hugging Scott again as he promised they would hang out more, like they used to. His driver returned to take him over to Peter’s house, and Stiles texted him on the way, asking if they could stay in that evening instead of going out. 

 

When Peter opened the door for him, Stiles collapsed forwards into his arms, clinging to his shoulders and burying his face in Peter’s neck. It only made the man chuckle, even when Stiles let out a pitiful whine. “It couldn’t have been that bad,” Peter said, hoisting Stiles up by the back of his thighs so he could carry him into his bedroom.

 

Stiles was grateful that Peter seemed to know exactly what he wanted to do. He buried himself under a fluffy blanket and tugged Peter over, resting on his chest. “It wasn’t bad,” he said, “it was awesome. It was so good and I’m miserable.”

 

Peter ran one hand through Stiles’ hair, the other resting heavy and warm on his waist. He didn’t say anything, just let Stiles sigh into his shirt. “I have to find a way to get Scott out of his contract. He’s the Argent’s chew toy because I was petty and jealous and told him to go for it.”

 

But Peter knew just as well as Stiles did that there was no conceivable way to make that happen, so long as Scott continued to be profitable for them. 

 

They laid there until Stiles started getting sleepy, and he wanted dinner more than he wanted a nap, so he rolled over to look Peter in the eye. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that Peter had already been watching him. “Cora said I’m soft because I like you too much,” he said, remembering their conversation earlier. 

 

“How dreadful,” Peter deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Stiles punched his arm, though it was light, and bounced right off. Peter probably didn’t even feel it. “She’s planning something and I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think we’re going to like it.”

 

Peter seemed to consider the possibility. “She won’t get to do anything unless we both approve of it,” he said, running his fingertips down the bare skin of Stiles’ arm that was thrown across his chest. “And I certainly won’t approve of anything unless I can clearly see how it suits our goals.”

 

Stiles nodded, and he believed him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Scott’s release party was a success, and the new track was instantly on the charts. Stiles listened to it in Peter’s office, and he had to admit it was beautifully written. It didn’t sound like Scott at all. 

 

After a few weeks in the recording studio and diligent hard work on the part of the producers they were working with, an early cut of Ramsey’s debut album was ready. The band, plus the Hales and inexplicably Lydia, were all gathered in one of the studio’s boardrooms to listen to the final result.

 

There were things Stiles liked and disliked about each song, the perfectionist in him longing to do just one more take of certain verses, or to tweak a particular arrangement just a little, but the general consensus was that it was a fantastic album. 

 

Before their meeting was adjourned in favour of celebratory drinks, Cora exchanged a look with Lydia, and called for them all to stay. “We’ve got something to share, so sit your asses back down.”

 

Stiles glanced between them, and over at Peter, who looked equally unsure. That was an expression he was totally unused to seeing on his face, at least in a business context. He’d given a similar look to a bottle of kombucha Laura had tried, and failed, to make him drink. 

 

“Lydia’s agreed to direct our music videos,” Cora announced, beaming at the other woman. “We’ve even drafted out scripts for them. We’re thinking a whole cinematic piece, one video per song, Beyonce style.”

 

“I’ve wanted to dabble in short films,” Lydia offered by way of an explanation, though nobody thought she needed one. “And it’s a perfect way to inject a particular image into the media stream. Lots of potential for gifs and clips online, plenty of screengrabs for the press to use.”

 

The idea of doing any sort of acting did not exactly delight Stiles. He had been a good sport with the AlphaBeta videos, as half the time he just needed to sit and play the drums, while the rest often saw him as a supporting character in some Scott-centric mini plot. But this was different, and it frankly sounded exhausting. 

 

“Interesting,” Peter said, before Stiles could protest. “It’s not a bad idea. Good promotion, and I presume we can expect your usual quality,” he looked at Lydia, who just tossed her hair over her shoulder indignantly.

 

“Of course. I don’t gamble with my reputation.” 

 

“Is this the idea you didn’t think we’d like?” Stiles asked Cora, remembering their phone call about his image. “I mean, I’m not psyched about it, but if everyone thinks this is a good idea, I could be persuaded.”

 

“You mean if Peter thinks it’s a good idea,” Aiden smirked at him, earning a couple of scowls from around the table. 

 

Cora ignored him. “Yeah, well, I said we were going to try and stick with the image we discussed for you, so the script for the videos reflects that. It’s sort of a modern Western feel, bit tragic, more bittersweet though. A romance, obviously.”

 

Ah, and there it was. Stiles could tell from Cora’s voice that this was what she was skirting around. Lydia, on the other hand, was much more direct. “We want Derek to play the love interest in the series. He’s already part of our circle, so we won’t have to bring in some random talent, and both your fanbases already have enjoyed speculating at some imaginary chemistry between you two after the Snapchat incident.”

 

Stiles knew about that, it had been enough of a topic for discussion that he had been getting tweets about it, people asking what his relationship with Derek was. He had pointedly been ignoring them. “I don’t know about this,” he started, looking to see what the others reactions were. 

 

Peter and Derek were staring at each other. Or rather, they seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation, one that everyone waited for them to finish. “I concede it’s a good idea,” Peter finally said. “Let’s go over the script tomorrow. If it seems like the right fit, we can get started on it while the final cut of the album is made.”

 

For a second, Stiles thought he must have heard wrong, but no, Peter had actually agreed to it. And that was…strange, since his ability to channel his jealousy into petty acts of vengeance was second to none. Which told Stiles that Peter didn’t mind if people were led to believe that he and his nephew were a thing. 

 

He didn’t really pay attention as they finished up the meeting, and when everyone started making for the door, Stiles hurried to mix among them so he could get home to his apartment right away. He could decide what the hell it all meant while eating the last of the Haagen Dazs from the freezer.

 

“Stiles, wait here,” Peter called to him, and he did pause, only to debate leaving or staying. But perhaps he enjoyed suffering, he mused, as he turned to stay. 

 

Kira caught his eye as she was the last to leave, and with a tense expression, closed the door behind her. 

 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Stiles tried, an obvious lie. Peter just raised an eyebrow.

 

“If you think for a moment that this means I suspect, encourage, or endorse anything between you and my nephew, then please let me know, as I have clearly done a poor job of making my attachment to you clear,” he said, slinking around the table to stand a few inches from Stiles. “You aren’t worried, are you, Stiles?”

 

“No,” he scoffed, but Peter ran a hand lightly down his jaw to cup his chin, and Stiles couldn’t look away. “I mean, I just thought it was weird.”

 

Peter smiled. “If there is one thing I would never doubt about you, it’s your loyalty.” He leaned over to peck Stiles on the lips, but as he pulled away he seemed to change his mind, and kissed him again, more firmly. 

 

Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and melted into it. “My place?” he asked when they finally broke apart. “I wanted to get pizza, but we can always eat it in bed.”

 

“Of course.” Peter took his hand, and they both stepped out of the board room. 

 

“Oh,” Kira startled from where she was leaning outside the door. “Uh, sorry, I was, um—“ She glanced at their joined hands and stopped stuttering out an excuse. “Oh, good.”

 

If Scott hadn’t permanently taken residence in the best friend position in Stiles’ heart, there was no doubt Kira would have taken it. Although, why restrict it to just one? Who said you couldn’t have more than one best friend? “Thanks,” Stiles smiled at her, and she returned the expression, waving them off and heading for the stairs up to the practice stage.

 

“What?” Stiles asked, seeing how Peter was looking at him suddenly. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in what could almost be called a _fond_ look. 

 

He didn’t say anything, but led them out to his car. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Well duh,” Cora rolled her eyes at Stiles over the video call. Their late-morning conversations had become somewhat of a routine, and Stiles was on his couch drinking coffee with his phone propped up on some pillows across from him. “We wouldn’t have suggested using Derek if we thought it was a problem. And he’s cool with it, he said he talked it over with Isaac last night and neither of them mind, since it’s just work.”

 

“Him and Isaac are still together?” Stiles asked, getting distracted from the point of the conversation. “Isaac still hasn’t responded to my friend request on Facebook, I thought it meant they broke up. What a dick.”

 

Cora laughed loudly, and Stiles reached over to turn down the phone volume a little. He glanced over to his bedroom door, but there was no suggestion that Peter had woken up yet. “Anyways, I didn’t realize you were worried about you and Peter,” Cora said. 

 

“Worried isn’t the right word,” he pushed a hand back through his hair, but saw how wild it looked on camera, and fixed it again. “I’m just…not used to dating, I guess? Real dating. Relationships. The kind with like, trust and feelings and stuff.”

 

“And stuff,” she repeated. It was a very Peter move and he found it less charming coming from her. “Well, I’m happy to set your mind at ease, so we can go back to focusing on important things. Did you know that Peter has an entire AlphaBeta workout playlist?”

 

“What?” Stiles squinted at the phone screen. “I don’t believe that.”

 

“Oh yeah, he totally does. You remember when Derek introduced you to us?” Stiles nodded. “He’d never mentioned knowing you before, but after your group broke up he said something over dinner with the family about you two having been out together. Peter totally jumped on him to introduce you two.”

 

Stiles had known that Peter had instigated the meeting, as Derek had said as much. But he thought it was since Peter was such an opportunist, and the chance to snag an unoccupied pop star was too tempting. “You’re telling me he wanted to meet me because he was a _fan_?”

 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure he just thought you were hot,” Cora shrugged. “But pretty much. He’s ridiculously gone on you, even if he doesn’t show it much.”

 

Peter actually did show it, quite a lot. But he saved it for when they were in private, probably to preserve his image as some sort of managerial shark. Stiles knew better; he’d figured out Peter’s mask just as quickly as Peter had figured out his. “Okay, I know we’re supposed to talk about the script now, but I have to go pounce on my adorable idiot boyfriend.”

 

“TMI,” Cora said, ending the call with a hint of a grin. 

 

Stiles left his phone behind on the couch and crept back into his bedroom. The curtains were drawn so it was still dim, and he paused at the foot of the bed to take in the sight of Peter sprawled out with just a tiny corner of a sheet covering his naked body. “Dear lord,” Stiles said, glancing up at the ceiling, “or lady, or whoever. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but holy shit, do I appreciate it.”

 

He stripped off his sweatpants and slung his t-shirt somewhere over his shoulder before crawling onto the bed, deciding mid-crawl that Peter deserved to be woken up in his favourite way. Morning head, it was.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ phone was ringing. “Shit, you actually get reception out here?” Ethan asked from underneath the canopy that had been set up for shade. 

 

Taking the phone out from his pocket, Stiles wiped the desert dust off the screen before he could see who it was. His eyes widened, and he glanced up at the others who were busy setting up for the next take of the video. “Uh, I’m just gonna go take this,” he said to no one in particular, and answered the call on his way over to a rocky outcropping that could offer some semblance of privacy. “Hello?”

 

“Stiles, hi. It’s Allison. Argent,” she added quickly.

 

“Ally, I have your number in my phone,” he said, checking for scorpions before sitting down on a boulder. 

 

She sighed a little. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure where things stood with us, since it’s been a while, and…well, it’s been a while.”

 

“Tell me about it. How’ve you been?”

 

“I’m fine.” A pause, and when Stiles didn’t say anything, she went on. “Actually, Scott’s going to be back any minute, so I can’t really hang on. But I needed to talk to you about the Hales.”

 

“I’m listening,” he said, tensing up. This was either going to go one of two ways, and he really, really hoped she wasn’t about to start talking shit about them. 

 

“I talked to my dad about what happened with Kate and Derek. Well, I sort of knew, but I didn’t really _know_ , and I made him explain it all to me.” Her words kept tumbling out, like a dam breaking, and Stiles just listened. “Dad never approved of what Kate did, and he only just found out recently that Kate was still using Derek’s old songbooks for material for their artists. I guess he knew about it when she started, but thought she stopped? Anyways, he’s pissed but I think he’s too ashamed to do anything.”

 

“He clearly didn’t care _that_ much about it,” Stiles grumbled, “if he never did anything to stop her before.”

 

“I know,” Allison sounded disappointed. “Ignorance isn’t an excuse. But at least it isn’t like our entire family was conspiring against the Hales, or something.”

 

“I guess.” 

 

“You don’t believe me,” she guessed.

 

Stiles shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “I mean, I do, but what does it matter? I guess I’m glad your dad realizes what happened and feels like shit — sorry — but it’s not like that makes up for what happened to Derek.”

 

“I know. And it probably won’t, but now that Scott’s all tangled up in this — he’s really unhappy, Stiles. I haven’t told him about what Kate did yet, but I think I’m going to. What do you think?”

 

“He might deal with it better coming from you, I guess,” he sighed, wishing he had brought his water bottle over with him. It was ridiculously hot and the leather pants that wardrobe had him wear made it worse. 

 

“Okay.” She paused, and Stiles could hear some scuffling in the background. “Scott’s just getting home. I’ve got to go, but I’m going to take care of this, okay? Just leave it to me.”

 

“Sure, Ally. It was nice hearing from you again,” he added. 

 

“I’ll call you again soon.”

 

The line went dead. Stiles looked at the screen, shook his head, and returned back to the set.

 

* * *

 

 

The album dropped the same night as the video collection. It wasn’t a secret release — Cora had been working hard to make sure it was highly anticipated by all the right sources — and the morning after, she called Stiles with the good news. “It’s number one on the iTunes charts, plus Derek’s albums all got a boost, too,” she grinned, the glee practically radiating from her. “And I’ve been getting calls all night about interviews and appearances. Just try and tell me now that the video series wasn’t worth it. Go on, I’m listening.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. So he had complained endlessly about finding sand in his belongings for a week after the desert shoot. “Fine, you were right. It was totally worth having to kiss Derek while being circled by rattlesnakes.”

 

“People have done much worse for much less,” Peter called over to him. He was hovering over Stiles’ stove cooking breakfast, and only had an apron on. Stiles was being very diligent to keep his video chat directed in the opposite direction. 

 

“Yeah, it was such a hardship, I’m sure,” Cora snorted. “So, you excited for tonight’s party?”

 

“Uh huh,” Stiles replied. 

 

“The venue was Lydia’s suggestion, she knows the owner, I guess? But I went over last week to have a look around and I think it will be very classy. Which means I expect you’ll be properly dressed.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“And Lydia told me to tell you to make Peter pick out what you wear because she saw photos of you at Kira’s birthday party and says there’s no excuse whatsoever for you to wear flannel in LA.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“What the hell are you looking at?” Cora snapped, seeing how distracted he was.   


Stiles startled, dropping the phone back on the kitchen table. Luckily it only showed Cora the ceiling, but she could hear her uncle’s voice. “Now, Stiles, don’t be rude while you’re on a call.”

 

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re—!”

 

“Oh my god,” Cora facepalmed. “I said I was never going to call you on mornings after Peter’s stayed over, and did I listen to myself? No. And this is my punishment.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles said as he picked up the phone again. His face was red but otherwise he did look apologetic. “Listen, we’ll see you tonight, okay?”

 

“Don’t be late this time,” she warned him. 

 

“I make no promises,” came Peter’s voice, before the call ended. 

 

Sitting in her home office, Cora let her head thunk down on the desk. 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Erica was gushing, she and Boyd having infiltrated Stiles’ booth at the club the moment that the Hales became distracted by something else. “Seriously, not even about the album, because I’ve always known you had that in you, but look at this outfit. Is this Versace?” She pulled on the lapel of his jacket to see the lining. “I knew it. You’ve finally turned into a real, human adult with a sense of style.”

 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this was all Peter’s doing,” he admitted. They had totally been late for the party and Peter had miraculously produced the suit, tailored exactly to Stiles’ size, from his own closet at the last minute. “But I’m glad you approve.”

 

“So you guys are still a thing?” Boyd asked delicately. 

 

“Oh yeah. Why, did you buy into the story?” He pointed to the television monitors around the club, which at that moment were playing one of the videos from the new album. 

 

Erica shrugged. “You and Derek looked hot together. But we know what’s up, Isaac’s kept us well informed.” She winked, and sipped from her martini. 

 

“I forgot you guys were friends,” he remembered. “Hey, ask him why he hasn’t accepted my friend request yet.”

 

“I think it’s just to antagonize you,” Boyd chuckled, and seeing Kira on her way over, he moved to Erica’s other side to let her sit beside Stiles.

 

She had on a red dress with a flouncy skirt that landed all over Stiles lap when she sat down. “What’s he been saying?” she nudged him, speaking quietly so the others wouldn’t hear.

 

Stiles sighed, and pulled his phone out of his pocket for the hundredth time. “More of the same.”

 

Scott had been texting him all night. He didn’t mind; quite the opposite, he had hoped that he would have been able to come to the party, but apparently Kate had shot down the idea. But the more Scott felt left out, the more he started to reveal about his situation, and Stiles felt awful trying to celebrate.

 

The Argents had Scott working out with a personal trainer every morning, before going to vocal lessons. Apparently Kate thought they had to use just a little too much auto-tune in his album, and already planning the next one, she was putting him through his paces. Which was stupid, because Scott was a great singer but an amazing guitarist, and they hadn’t let him play in any of his songs. 

 

Kira gave Stiles a sympathetic look as his phone lit up again. 

 

**From Scott:** I dunno man, sometimes I think about what kind of job I’d rather have, you know? 

 

**From Scott:** Like, remember that time we went to that wolf preserve on our second promo tour? That was the coolest thing ever, I’d love to work with animals

 

Stiles groaned like he’d been shot, and Kira had had enough. She snatched the phone from his hands and typed a message back to Scott before handing it back to him. “Okay, that’s enough. Time to wake Fun Stiles up!”

 

Erica leapt at the chance. “I’ll get the whiskey!”

 

It didn’t take long for them to convince him to join in with the party atmosphere, and after a few drinks Stiles felt better. He even ventured to leave his booth, Kira and Erica stuck to his sides, and Boyd following close behind. They were on the dance floor of the club when one of the twins found them. “Deucalion’s here,” he said, swaying amongst the tightly-packed dancing bodies. “You should go save Aiden from him.”

 

He pointed them in the right direction and Stiles and Kira left the others behind to dance. “You got this?” Kira asked him as they spotted Deucalion with his business partner Kali, both looming over their drummer. 

 

Stiles glanced over towards the bar. Peter was there, standing with Laura and Derek, but watching him. “Totally,” he smiled, rolling his shoulders. 

 

Deucalion was the president of the perhaps tragically named Blindside Records who had released their album. It had been one of Peter’s strategic moves to have the entire album produced and ready to go, only needing a record label to distribute it through all the usual channels. It had been shopped around a little before they decided to work with Deucalion, partly because his label was the only one bigger than the Argent’s at present, and partly because he seemed so taken with Stiles, he agreed to just about all of their requests. 

 

“Hey, Deuc, glad you made it,” Stiles greeted him, putting a hand on his shoulder casually. “Kira and I were just talking about you.”

 

“Oh?” the man purred, instantly dropping whatever he had been discussing with Aiden, who took the opportunity to scuttle away into the crowds. “Good things, I hope.”

 

“Of course,” Stiles beamed. Deucalion might not be able to see it, but Kali could. “We’re going on tour, as you know, and since we’re gonna do two shows in London, we were saying how you’d be able to recommend places to stay while we’re there.”

 

Deucalion was an obvious narcissist and it hadn’t taken Stiles long to realize that even though he was a pain in the ass, there was a path to finding him tolerable through stroking his ego. “You’ll stay at my house in Chelsea, naturally,” he insisted, and would hear nothing otherwise. “But I’m afraid I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to accompany you, I rarely manage to make it out of California these days.”

 

Like that was going to disappoint Stiles. “That’d be cool, thanks,” he said, and glanced at Kira.

 

“Oh, look, Stiles, some of our fans are waving through the window,” she remarked, which wasn’t actually a lie. The front of the club was cordoned off for the event, but many of their more dedicated fans were still out there, holding signs and waiting with camera phones ready. “Let’s get the boys and go say hi.”

 

They took the opportunity to escape from the conversation, and did actually end up going outside to sign autographs and take pictures. When Stiles finally came back inside, face hurting from smiling so much, he sidled up to Peter at the bar. 

 

“Having fun, dear?” Peter asked him, smirking. They still avoided PDAs in public, but Stiles reached around him to take the double whiskey the bartender slid towards him, and if he didn’t move back very far, well, nobody else seemed to notice. 

 

“We’re staying at Deuc’s house in London in October. Isn’t that nice of him?”

 

Peter had been the first to notice how Deucalion took to Stiles, and had made no bones about heaping request on top of request on their release contract, just to see how far he would go to try and impress Stiles. It was pretty damn far. Enough that all the band members had been discussing what exotic locations they would be buying vacation homes in with their massive payout.

 

But that didn’t mean he appreciated the passes Deucalion continued to make at Stiles over their meetings, as if Peter wasn’t even in the room. Though, they hadn’t exactly informed the label president of their relationship.

 

Peter smiled, and leaned in to speak so no one else might listen in. “Very nice. I’ll have to fuck you in the master bedroom to show my gratitude.”

 

Stiles just rolled his eyes, though he blushed faintly. “When can we get out of here?”

 

Peter checked the time, and glanced around to check on those that they had come with. “Now,” he decided, and without a word they slipped out a side door, sneaking off to where Peter’s car was parked. 

 

Stiles sent a text to Kira to let her know that he left (and to apologize for ditching her, though he was sure that Erica would track her down if she was left unattended for long), and saw what she had written to Scott earlier. 

 

**To Scott:** Scott, this is Kira. Stiles loves you and is very happy to sit in his booth talking to you all night but he needs to be a good host since this is our party, so he’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

 

**To Scott:** P.S., you’d be a great conservationist.

 

Stiles smiled, and put his phone away for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles received word that their debut album was nominated for Album of the Year and that Allison wanted to meet up with him in secret on the same day. 

 

“It’s surreal,” he said to Peter as they drove to the restaurant Allison had named, a diner out in some neighbourhood away from the downtown core. “I mean, we lost best album when our last AlphaBeta record came out. I can’t believe I’m part of a group that’s been nominated again.”

 

“Should have been nominated in more categories,” Peter grumbled, as he had done all day. 

 

Stiles just rolled his eyes. “Nobody measures success by number of awards anymore,” he reasoned, which was true. Their album sales were still strong and kept them in the charts, and that was more than a reason to celebrate. “But I love your ambition. We’ll get them next time.” He leaned over the centre console of the car to plant a kiss on Peter’s cheek. 

 

It temporarily assuaged him. “You’re sure she wanted me to come along with you?”

 

“Yeah, she was weirdly specific,” Stiles checked his text messages again, just to be sure. Allison had insisted that Peter come with him, which made the fact that Scott would not be there even more suspicious. “But I know Allison, she’s not up to anything, even though I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking.”

 

“She’s an Argent,” he said blithely. “They have a natural gift of underhandedness.”

 

Stiles had on a baseball hat and glasses, with the hood of his sweater pulled up, in what he liked to call the Steve Rogers Special. He had convinced Peter to at least put on fake glasses, since people would be more likely to recognize him, now, too. It wasn’t at all because his wearing glasses did things to Stiles. 

 

Allison was already seated at a booth far in the back of the diner when they entered, waving them over when she spotted them. She was halfway through a milkshake and had a plastic reusable shopping bag beside her, which looked like an odd choice instead of one of her usual designer bags. “Hey,” she said, gesturing for them to sit down. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, I know things must be crazy with you guys. Congratulations, by the way!”

 

“Ah, thanks,” Stiles grinned. He had been getting congratulatory text messages all morning, since the nominees were announced. “I’m just glad Kira and the twins have something to show for all their hard work, now. We literally could not have done it without them, so.”

 

She nodded, “Glad to hear you’re already practicing your acceptance speech.” 

 

Stiles laughed, and glanced at Peter, who was being particularly stoic. “So, what’s with all the sneaking around? You got some big secret you’re hiding? Oh god,” he paled, “are you pregnant? Holy shit—“

 

“I’m not pregnant,” she raised an eyebrow. “If I was, don’t you think Scott would tell you first?”

 

“Oh, yeah.” 

 

Allison put a hand onto the bag beside her, fidgeting with the handles. She didn’t look like she knew where to start, and was given a moment’s reprieve as a waitress came over and took their orders. Stiles got them both milkshakes too, as he knew that Peter loved them but would never order one for himself. 

 

“Okay,” Allison seemed to steel herself. “So, Scott and I are leaving for Hawaii tonight, to stay with Danny. For a while.”

 

“Aw, man, that sounds awesome,” Stiles whined. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

 

Neither of them had mentioned the fact that Scott hadn’t been nominated for any awards. He could only guess that this was to distract from that fact. 

 

“Yeah. But, um, you see, my family doesn’t exactly know we’re going,” Allison went on, glancing around the restaurant as if expecting them to pop up at any moment. “Which is why I kind of need to ask you both for a favour.”

 

“A favour,” Peter repeated, and Stiles poked him with his elbow. 

 

“I know, but just hear me out,” she said, and turned to open the bag she brought with her, dumping the contents out onto the table. 

 

Stiles and Peter stared. “This is…” Peter started.

 

“All of Derek’s notebooks, yeah,” she stacked them up in a neat pile, then flipped one open to show them. “Kate had us under the impression that they were destroyed, but I broke into the vault in my grandfather’s office and found them. They probably won’t notice for a while, but they’ll definitely know it was me,” she looked at them desperately, “so we’re getting out of dodge for a while.”

 

“What are we supposed to do with these?” Stiles asked, though Peter was silent beside him. Stiles glanced and saw he was deep in thought, which could bode well. 

 

Allison flipped open one of the notebooks at random. “This is all Kate’s handwriting,” she pointed out, and they could see notes made over every page in a bright red ink, the handwriting distinctly different than the teenage scrawl on the pages. “And there are some post-its, and even a note on paper that says “From the Desk of Katherine Argent”. Derek’s name is on the bookplates in the front. It’s got to be enough to implicate her, right?”

 

Peter reached out and took another one of the notebooks, glancing over the notes inside. “You want us to reveal what she’s done,” he guessed.

 

“I want you to get Scott out of his contract,” she said firmly. “I don’t care what else you get out of this. Just get them to release Scott, and then he can leave this stupid industry for good, like he wants to.”

 

Stiles would have leapt up and kissed her were there not a table in between them. “But won’t your family, like, disown you for this?”

 

“Dad won’t,” she said, “and mom would never. I’m done with Kate and grandpa, though. They can go fuck themselves.” 

 

She looked exhausted as she said so. It was probably the most scathing thing Stiles had ever heard her say. 

 

Their milkshakes arrived, and Stiles caught Peter’s eye as the waitress walked away. He looked quietly and apprehensively delighted. “So, Hawaii, huh?” he turned back to Allison. “You’re gonna have to tell me if Danny’s as good a surf teacher as he always says he is.”

 

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Stiles wondered if she genuinely didn’t know if they would accept the request. 

 

After lunch, and as Allison disappeared to find where she had parked her own car, Stiles pulled out his phone. Peter was already on his, speaking to his lawyers.

 

**To Scott:** I don’t think there are any wolves in Hawaii dude

 

**To Scott:** You’re gonna have to get the biggest nicest ranch out in the midwest. If it isn’t totally adorable and full of little Argent-McCalls I’m not gonna come visit.

 

* * *

 

 

_Six Months Later_

 

“Fuck, Peter,” Stiles panted, tugging at his boyfriend’s hair as he knelt on the floor before the couch, mouth wrapped around his cock and his tongue doing some _thing_ that always made Stiles’ brain short circuit. “I’m gonna come—“

 

Peter glanced up at him, as if to say _that’s the point_ , and didn’t release until Stiles had spilled down his throat with a loud moan. The dressing room was pretty well insulated, or at least it looked that way. If anyone heard them, at least nobody had knocked on the door to say anything.

 

Stiles was panting hard and Peter climbed back up onto the couch to kiss him, prolonging the red flush that painted Stiles’ cheeks and chest so nicely. His tie had disappeared shortly after he had stumbled into the dressing room after the band’s performance, and neither of them were in a rush to find it. “You were just so lovely up on stage,” Peter purred, catching Stiles’ cheek with his hand, “and one of the cameras was angled up from below you — it was very flattering.”

 

“Oh, god, you could totally see my dick through these pants, couldn’t you?” he groaned, cursing his lack of conviction when it came to wearing jeans. Lydia had insisted it was too casual for the Grammys. He really needed to stop listening to her. 

 

Or maybe he didn’t, he thought briefly, as Peter continued pawing at him. He had worried, rather briefly, that things might simmer down between the two of them since they bought that house together out in Beverly Hills. Clearly he was wrong. 

 

“What’s that sound?” Stiles mumbled, hearing some faint rumble that didn’t come from Peter this time. 

 

“Hm?” Peter glanced around, his eyes landing on the monitor broadcasting the stage show into the dressing room. “Oh—“

 

“Shit!” Stiles exclaimed, seeing the live feed. The cameras were following Kira, Ethan, and Aiden as they were leaving their seats, making their way up onto the stage. “We fucking won! Oh my god, I’m not out there!”

 

They both jumped into action to get him looking somewhat decent again and he was still doing his pants up as the door to the dressing room was unceremoniously flung open. “What the fuck are you doing?” Lydia shouted at them, dragging Stiles out by the arm. “Start running, we can make it!”

 

He was pushed out on stage from the wings, stumbling out before the audience instead of having the elegant ascent up the stairs that the rest of the band had. He tried to be as subtle as possible when walking over to join them at the podium, taking hold of the Grammy when it was handed to him, and ignoring the leer Ethan was giving him. Kira had a hand over her mouth to cover her laughter, and Aiden was attempting something of a speech. 

 

“And, uh, I want to thank our mom for putting up with us, and for thinking music lessons were a better way to deal with us than sports,” he said into the microphone, getting some laughs from the crowd, though Stiles was keenly aware he had, once again, stolen some of the thunder from everyone else. He sighed, and put on his best smile for the audience.

 

Kira gave her speech, and then the three of them turned expectantly to Stiles. He pushed his hair back and realized, quite tragically, that his shirt was still excessively unbuttoned, but there was nothing he could do now. “This is such an honour,” he said to the crowd, to some cheers. “I wanna thank my dad first, who is somewhere in the audience, so hey, dad. Uh…also, my best buddy Scott McCall and his fiancee Allison, who are opening up the cutest animal sanctuary in the entire world. Obviously also these guys,” he gestured to the twins and Kira, “for being awesome and putting up with me for months in the studio, and on tour.” 

 

The presenter edged forward, trying to subtly tell him to wrap it up, so Stiles leaned into the mic for one last word. “And also, big shout out to a certain Mr. Hale, who is my boyfriend and who I am totally in love with.”

 

Cheers came up from the crowd, and Stiles grinned as he was shuffled away backstage with the rest of the band, award in hand. He could see Peter waiting for him behind the scurrying stagehands, and his smile made Stiles’ heart jump.

 

Kira threw her arm around his shoulder, ruffling his already sex-mussed hair. “Isaac’s never going to accept your friend request now,” she laughed, and he did, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm heading out on a family trip for the rest of the week so please leave a comment for me to read on the road!
> 
> Throw some AUs at me on [tumblr](http://oriolevent.tumblr.com/) and I'll write some up when I get back! xo


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